THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Mrs,  Paul  Boyich 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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B   ^'v  ^^H 

^«           *  <ei    ^HK 

"SHE'S  PRETTY." 
.   .   .   "YES,    IN    A 

TT^F." "I 

LIKE  HER  HAT/' 
.  .  .  "YES,  SHE  IS 
PRETTY.  I  SEE  ITj 
NOW.  I  SEE  THE 
ATTRACTION." 


FOR  BETTER, 

FOR  WORSE 


BY 
W.  B.  MAXWELL 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  GUARDED  FLAME,' 
"THE  devil's  GARDEN,'*  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,    MEAD   AND    COMPANY 

1920 


coptright,  1920 
By  W.  B.  maxwell 


g»  eaiim  &  goben   Company 

BOOK      MANUFACTURERS 
RAHWAV  NEW     JERSEY 


1  b  I 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 


054 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 


CHAPTER  I 

IT  has  become  a  trite  observation  that  you  cannot  have 
a  home  in  London.  You  live  in  London,  but  your  real 
home  is  somewhere  else,  or  you  have  not  one  at  all. 

In  this  sense  Mrs.  Gilmour  and  her  family  had  always 
been  homeless.  They  lived  in  the  large  house  at  a  comer 
of  a  short  road  that  runs  out  of  Sloane  Street,  and  they 
lived  nowhere  else.  They  were  very  well  off,  with  every- 
thing they  could  desire,  paying  the  modest  super-tax  of 
those  happy  days  without  distress,  and  yet  they  could 
not  make  themselves  really  comfortable:  unconsciously 
they  banished  from  them  any  imitation  or  transient  illu- 
sion of  the  proper  home  feeling.  There  was  an  atmos- 
phere of  needless  hurry  throughout  the  house.  Having 
nothing  of  importance  to  do,  its  inmates  seemed  invariably 
behindhand  with  their  trifling  tasks.  They  had  no  time 
to  think.  They  omitted  to  shut  doors  behind  them.  They 
talked  incessantly,  in  a  running  debate,  about  the  little 
difficulties  that  suddenly  confronted  them. 

Thus,  for  instance,  old  Mrs.  Gilmour,  opening  the  li- 
brary door  and  leaving  it  open,  announced  that  she  was 
in  trouble  about  the  address  of  a  friend. 

"  You  can  find  it  in  the  red  book,"  said  Emily  Joyce, 
her  married  daughter,  who  was  ensconced  in  an  armchair 
by  the  fire  and  toasting  her  patient  leather  shoes. 

"  No,  I  can't  find  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour. 

"  Oh,  it  must  be  there,"  said  Mrs.  Joyce. 

"  It's  the  book  itself  I  canH  find,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour. 
"  I  think  it  may  have  been  left  in  the  car.     Unless,  of 

1 


2  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

course,  I  left  it  on  the  seat  of  some  chair  or  other ; "  and 
she  looked  at  her  large  and  handsome  daughter  re- 
flectively.    "  Emily,  would  you  mind  moving  a  moment  ?" 

"My  dear  mother,  if  I  was  sitting  on  the  book,  I  should 
know  it." 

Mrs.  Gilmour  had  a  talent  for  getting  people  out  of 
their  chairs ;  but  Emily  Joyce  was  always  the  last  to  get 
up,  and  she  resisted  now  firmly. 

"All  right,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour,  for  a  moment  looking 
baffled  and  worried.  Then  her  mind  wandered.  "  I 
haven't  seen  Mrs.  Hackett  this  morning,  and  I  know  I 
had  something  particular  to  tell  her,  but  I  can't  remem- 
ber what  it  was.     By  the  way,  where's  Claire.?^  " 

"  In  the  morning-room,  I  think." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  thought  you  said  at  breakfast  that  we 
were  all  going  to  sit  in  the  morning- room  .'^  " 

"  I'm  coming  there  directly." 

"  Oh,  now  I  remember,"  and  Mrs.  Gilmour's  face  lit 
up.     "  It  was  about  the  sweep." 

"  What  about  the  sweep.?  " 

"  Mrs.  Hackett  said  we  must  get  the  chimneys  swept 
at  the  very  first  opportunity ;  "  and  she  hurried  from  the 
room. 

"Mother,  would  you  please "  Mrs.   Joyce  called 

after  her  despairingly.  But  it  was  no  use.  Already  Mrs. 
Gilmour's  voice  sounded  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall, 
in  conversation  with  the  butler.  So  Emily  had  to  get 
up  out  of  her  chair  after  all,  in  order  to  close  the  door. 

"  What  are  those  dishes  for,  Belton.?*  You  don't  mean 
to  say  that  Mr.  Cyril  hasn't  been  down  to  breakfast 
yet.?" 

"Not  yet,  ma'am." 

"  Why,  good  gracious,  it's  quite  late,  isn't  it.?  It  must 
be  nearly  eleven  o'clock ;  "  and  Mrs.  Gilmour  seemed  as 
much  surprised  as  if  this  was  the  first  time  that  Cyril  had 
come  home  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  lain  in  bed 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  3 

istead  of  going  to  his  work  at  the  Temple  next  morning. 

"  Five  minutes  past  eleven,  ma'am,"  said  Belton,  sym- 
)athetically  affecting  surprise  also.  Then,  following  the 
ootman  with  the  tray  of  dishes,  he  disappeared  through  a 
:ed  baize  door. 

Mrs.  Gilmour  moved  slowly  across  the  black  and  white 
pavement  of  the  hall,  and  stood  by  the  carved  oak  table, 
on  which  newspapers  and  magazines  lay  neatly  ranged. 
For  a  few  moments  her  face  was  overcast  as  she  thought 
of  Cyril,  her  beloved  son.  The  dear  boy's  mode  of  life 
was,  she  feared,  what  Emily's  husband  slangily  called 
"  rapid."  He  was  getting  into  debt,  although  spending 
such  a  lot  of  ready  money,  and  she  suspected  that  his  ex- 
travagant habits  were  fostered  by  the  friendships  he  had 
contracted  among  actresses.  The  proper  place  for  ac- 
tresses is  behind  the  footlights.  It  is  a  misfortune  when 
this  barrier  is  disregarded,  and  they  begin  driving  about 
in  motor  cars  with  members  of  the  audience.  If  Cyril 
wasn't  careful  he  might  get  his  name  in  the  papers. 
Then  the  expression  of  her  face  changed.  Her  attention 
had  been  attracted  by  a  slight  hissing  noise  that  issued 
from  the  central-heating  apparatus  near  the  dining-room 
door,  and  she  went  and  gazed  at  the  tubes  and  joints. 
How  pleased  her  late  husband  had  been  when  he  installed 
this  useful  macliine !  What  a  long  time  ago,  too.  How 
well  it  had  worn.  If  there  was  anything  wrong,  it  must 
be  repaired  without  delay,  if  only  out  of  respect  to  the 
memory  of  him  who  was  gone. 

Tender  recollections  of  her  husband  brought  into  her 
mind  thoughts  about  one  of  his  investments,  a  block  of 
leasehold  houses  at  Finchley,  from  which  she  derived  a 
part  of  her  income.  The  solicitors  had  written  again, 
reminding  her  that  the  term  of  these  leaseholds  was  draw- 
ing towards  its  expiration,  and  advising  her  to  provide 
against  this  eventuality  by  a  sinking  fund  or  an  insur- 
ance.    She  refused  to  allow  herself  to  dwell  on.  so  worry- 


4  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

ing  a  subject.  But  the  expiring  leaseholds  had  reminded 
her  of  something  else. 

She  was  the  sort  of  amiable,  but  not  very  wise,  woman 
who  puts  trouble  from  her,  refuses  to  recognize  dangers, 
tries  always  to  believe  that  what  she  dreads  happening 
will  not  happen.  She  showed  this  temperamental  reluc- 
tance even  when  called  upon  to  face  the  inevitable;  but 
of  late,  in  regard  to  Claire,  she  had  become  unwillingly 
aware  of  the  insidiousness  with  which  time  in  its  passage 
brings  an  annoyance  and  weariness  nearer  and  nearer  to 
you,  whether  you  think  of  it  or  not.  Her  youngest 
daughter  had  grown  up. 

"  It  means  that  in  future  I  shall  have  such  a  lot  to  do 
for  Claire,"  she  used  to  say  plaintively  to  friends.  Or, 
"  That  is  something  that  must  be  postponed  until  Claire 
is  married  and  settled."  Or,  when  making  plans  with 
Emily  or  her  adored  Cyril,  "  It  would  only  be  possible 
if  Claire  were  out  of  the  way." 

"  Are  you  there,  Claire  ?  "  she  said,  entering  the  morn- 
ing-room and  leaving  the  door  open  behind  her. 

Claire,  a  tall  girl,  with  dark  hair  and  pale  cheeks,  wel- 
comed her  shyly. 

"  What  are  you  doing  in  here  all  by  yourself, 
dear? "  ^ 

"  Only  writing  some  letters,"  said  Claire. 

*'  I  have  an  immense  number  of  letters  to  write  myself »" 
And,  as  if  the  mental  vision  of  the  mass  of  unwritten 
correspondence  had  robbed  her  of  energy,  Mrs.  Gilmour 
sat  upon  a  sofa  and  stared  at  Claire  hopelessly. 

Claire  was  now  twenty,  and  as  yet  nothing  had  been 
done  for  her.  Next  year  she  must  be  presented  at  Court 
and  given  a  good  time.  That  is,  Mrs.  Gilmour  must  take 
her  to  parties,  show  her  the  world;  and  presently,  when 
Claire  had  shut  the  door  and  returned  to  the  writing- 
table,  Mrs.  Gilmour  spoke  again  of  the  coming  good 
time.     She  sighed  as  she  spoke  of  it. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  5 

"  Oh,  you  musn't  trouble,  you  know,  mother,"  said 
Claire,  gently. 

"  My  dear,  of  course  I  shall  trouble.  It  wouldn't  be 
fair  to  you  otherwise ;  "  and  she  sighed  again.  "  Only  I 
am  not  as  young  as  I  used  to  be." 

And  she  began  to  talk  of  her  family  with  a  curious 
detached  manner,  as  though  in  no  way  accountable  for 
the  phenomena  that  she  related. 

"  What  was  so  strange,  my  children  were  so  spread 
out.  The  nursery  was  always  starting  again.  I  had 
Nurse  Mitchell  back  three  times  after  we  thought  we 
had  seen  the  last  of  her.  Even  the  big  rocking-horse  was 
sold  before  you  were  bom.  Do  you  realize  that  John 
is  old  enough  to  be  your  father,  if  he  had  married  at 
eighteen.'^  " 

John  was  the  eldest  son,  who  dwelt  at  Liverpool,  and 
still  followed  the  shipping  trade,  from  which  the  fortunes 
of  the  whole  family  had  first  sprung;  a  nearly  bald  man, 
with  a  stubby  beard  and  abrupt,  swift  speech;  almost  a 
stranger  to  Claire,  and  so  different  from  Cyril  and  every- 
body else  that  she  had  sometimes  forgotten  him  in  her 
childish  prayers,  and  been  compelled,  conscience-stricken, 
to  get  out  of  bed  and  add  a  postscript  to  the  general 
petition :  "  Please  God  bless  brother  John  too,  and  make 
me  a  good  girl."  His  mother  and  others  said  of  him 
always,  "  He  will  end  by  being  a  baronet " — much  as 
one  says  of  a  hunting  man,  "  He  will  break  his  neck 
before  he  has  done." 

"  My  little  Lawrence,"  Mrs.  Gilmour  continued  mus- 
ingly, "  was  only  five  when  I  lost  him.  That  nearly  broke 
my  heart,  Claire." 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  The  dearest  little  chap  you  ever  saw — in  a  Scotch 
suit,  kilt  and  sporran.  Emily  was  the  next,  of  course, 
Emily  is  twelve  years  older  than  you,  isn't  she.?  " 

"  Yes,  mother." 


6  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  And  Angela,  if  she  had  been  spared,  would  be  twenty- 
three  next  month.  This  is  February,  isn't  it  ?  Of  course. 
Twenty-three.  You  were  very  good  to  poor  Angela,  Claire 
— ^very  patient  and  considerate — always  wilUng  to  sacri- 
fice yourself.  But  this  won't  do.  How  the  morning  is 
flying!    You  musn't  keep  me  chatting  here." 

She  had  risen,  and  she  looked  at  Claire  at  once  vaguely 
and  reproachfully. 

"  Can  I  help  you  in  anything,  mother.^  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  thank  you.  There  are  matters  I  have  to 
attend  to  that  demand  personal  attention ; "  and  she 
passed  from  the  room. 

Through  the  open  doorway  Claire  heard  her  give  a  cry 
as  though  she  had  seen  a  ghost.  It  was  the  tardy  appari- 
tion of  her  son  Cyril  coming  down  the  broad  staircase. 

"  My  dearest  Cyril,  they  are  getting  your  breakfast 
ready.  I  will  call.  No,  I  will  ring.  Oh,  they  know  you 
are  down.'^  " 

Cyril,  looking  pallid  and  tired,  came  in  and  out  of  the 
morning- room,  and  his  mother  hung  about  him  fondly.  He 
lit  a  cigarette  to  encourage  his  appetite,  sat  at  the  piano, 
and  vainly  endeavoured  to  play  a  tune  which,  as  he  ex- 
plained, was  haunting  him. 

"  Claire,"  he  said  fretfully,  "  you  pretend  to  be  a  musi- 
cian.    Can't  you  pick  it  up  for  me?  " 

But  Claire  had  to  confess  that,  without  the  score  and 
never  having  heard  the  melody,  she  was  impotent  to  assist. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  "  they  had  taught  me  music  instead 
of  Latin  and  Greek.  A  dashed  sight  more  useful  to  a 
fellow." 

He  was  not  hungry  to-day,  his  breakfast  was  soon  des- 
patched, and  after  loud  whistling  for  a  cab,  he  was  gone. 

"  Has  Mr.  Cyril  gone?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gilmour,  having 
mislaid  him  at  the  last  moment. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Belton.  "  Mr.  Cyril  has  just 
gone." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  7 

^  Oh  dear,  I  wish  I'd  known  he  was  going  off  like 
t  lat.  I  know  I  had  something  that  I  wanted  to  ask 
I  im/' 

After  this  there  was  an  unusually  animated  discussion 
[  etween  her  and  Emily  as  to  whether  they  would  go  to 
i  he  Army  and  Navy  Stores  before  luncheon ;  or,  if  so, 
^  hether  they  would  have  the  horses  out  and  use  the  double 
^  ictoria  or  go  in  the  car. 

"  The  carriage  would  be  pleasanter,"  said  Mrs.  Gil- 
Qour. 

"  But  the  car  would  be  quicker,'^  said  Mrs.  Joyce. 

The  arrival  of  visitors  automatically  decided  all  points, 
md  put  off  shopping  at  the  Stores  till  after  luncheon.  A 
slergymian  wished  to  see  Mrs.  Gilmour,  and  several  ladies 
asked  for  Emily.  These  ladies  were  close  friends  of  Mrs. 
Joyce  or  the  house  itself,  and  they  drifted  in  from  the 
street  and  out  again  quite  informally  on  many  mornings. 
They  were  elegant,  richly  attired,  smiling,  self-possessed; 
and  up  and  down  Sloane  Street,  and  in  the  squares  and 
crescents  all  round,  there  were  hundreds  of  other  ladies 
all  outwardly  and  inwardly  exactly  like  them.  They  told 
Emily  and  Mrs.  Gilmour  and  one  another  astounding  fan- 
tastic scraps  of  gossip :  such  as,  that  Mr.  Arthur  Balfour 
had  long  been  secretly  married  to  one  of  the  royal  prin- 
cesses ;  that  Mr.  Lloyd  George,  the  "  dreadful  man,"  had 
made  a  large  wager  that  six  named  dukes  would  ask 
him  to  dinner  before  the  year  was  out,  and  that  ths  bet 
had  been  duly  entered  in  the  betting  book  at  the  Reform  ^^ 
Club,  where  a  friend  of  the  speaker  had  seen  it ;  or  that 
an  Australian  millionaire  had  taken  the  haunted  house 
in  Berkeley  Square,  and  that  his  wife  had  had  the  bed 
clothes  pulled  off  her  three  times  in  the  night  by  "  a 
presence ;  "  or  that  Self  ridge's  new  shop  was  selling  rose- 
pink  velvet  curtains  at  one  fifth  of  the  cost  of  manu- 
facture "  as  an  advertisement."  And  none  of  these  mar- 
vels aroused  the  least  sign  of  increduUty.     Emily  Joyce 


8  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

gave  the  hard  little  laugh  that  was  habitual  to  her ;  Mrs. 
Gilmour  nodded  her  head,  smiled  tolerantly,  and  sent 
Claire  on  a  message ;  not  even  the  curate  protested. 

"  I  shall  run  up  to  Oxford  Street  and  secure  some  of 
those  curtains,''  said  one  of  the  ladies,  with  a  well-bred 
giggle.  "  There's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  profit  by 
such  a  chance." 

"  I  don't  blame  you,"  said  Emily  Joyce,  with  her  hard' 
laugh.     "  Somebody  else  will  score,  if  you  don't." 

They  all  drifted  out  into  the  street  again,  except  one  of 
them;  and  next  minute  this  lady  was  seated  in  the  morn- 
ing-room telling  Mrs.  Joyce's  fortune  with  a  pack  of  play- 
ing cards.  Mrs.  Gilmour  stood  by,  watching  and  listening, 
with  her  head  slightly  on  one  side;  Claire  drew  close  to 
the  table,  fascinated,  almost  awestruck  by  the  boldness  of 
the  sortilege;  Mrs.  Joyce  puckered  her  forehead  in  strenu- 
ous effort  as  she  sought  to  make  the  words  of  the  sooth- 
sayer tally  with  existing  facts. 

"  One,  two,  three,  four  " — the  lady  counted  rapidly. 
"  Yes,  yes,  yes.  There  is  someone  you  love  and  wish  to 
protect." 

That,  of  course,  might  be  Emily  herself  or  her  husband. 
Leonard  Joyce  was  the  junior  partner  of  an  eminent  firm 
of  solicitors,  and  she  suspected  him  of  having  married 
her  for  her  money,  and  merely  taken  her  beauty  and  great 
scharm  of  manner  as  a  honne  bouche.  She  had  not  at  this 
time  of  day  the  faintest  notion  of  why  she  married  him. 
She  was  quite  satisfied  with  him  for  always  "  doing  her 
well,"  although  she  scarcely  made  any  pretence  of  being 
fond  of  him.  She  certainly  managed  his  life  for  him, 
intending  to  put  him  into  Parliament,  push  him  along,  and 
see  that  he  grew  richer  and  more  respected.  Yes,  no 
doubt,  the  cards  in  their  queer  way  meant  to  indicate 
Leonard  as  the  thing  she  loved  and  desired  to  guard. 

"  Five,  six,  seven,  eight.  Yes,  there's  money.  There's 
a  lot  of  money — yes.     But  I  can't  say  whether  money 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  9 

jained  by  speculation  or  money  saved  by  putting-by.  It 
nay  be  money  from  a  relative." 

Mrs.  Joyce  frowningly  considered.  She  and  Leonard 
bad  let  their  house  furnished  at  a  good  rent  for  four 
months,  and  by  living  gratis  with  her  mother  they  were 
undoubtedly  economizing.  But  "  a  lot  of  money  "  ?  You 
could  hardly  speak  of  such  modest  savings  as  a  lot  of 
money. 

Mrs.  Gilmour  tested  her  luck  next,  and  then  Claire 
shyly  asked  if  she  too  might  have  her  fortune  told. 

"  What  fortune  can  she  have  at  her  age.?  "  said  Emily, 
in  a  tone  of  superiority  that  was  almost  contemptuous. 

"  Oh,  let  her  try  her  wish,"  said  the  lady  graciously ; 
and  Claire  sat  down  to  the  table.  "  Wish,  dear,  and 
shuffle  your  wish  into  the  cards,  and  tell  no  one  what  your 
wish  is." 

The  room,  like  all  the  other  rooms  of  the  house,  had 
been  furnished  and  decorated  at  great  cost,  but  without 
any  real  taste  or  controlling  method.  It  was  convention- 
ally elegant,  vulgarly  charming;  rich  in  objects  of  differ- 
ent schools  and  periods.  A  gilt  chair  with  Empire  tapes- 
try stood  beside  a  Queen  Anne  cabinet;  a  landscape  by 
Leader  hung  between  two  Dutch  mirrors ;  immense  Ori- 
ental vases  reflected  themselves  in  the  polished  parquetry 
floor;  and  so  on.  Through  the  glass  of  double  windows, 
filtered  again  by  delicate  lace  curtains,  came  faint  beams 
of  sunshine.  Two  large  shrubs  of  azalea  in  full  bloom 
caught  the  soft  sunbeams,  while,  weak  as  they  were,  the 
firelight  faded  beneath  them. 

And  the  small  group  of  people  in  the  room  formed 
quite  a  pretty  picture  of  the  purely  conventional  sort — 
the  fortune-teller,  with  her  fur  coat  thrown  open  on  her 
broad  bosom  her  pearl  necklace  just  perceptible,  her 
jewelled  bangles  and  rings  flashing  as  she  moved  her 
hands ;  the  old  lady  looking  very  dignified  with  her  grey 
hair  and  purple  velvet  gown;  the  handsome,  bouncingly; 


10  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

robust,  young  married  woman  lolling  and  smiling;  and 
the  tall,  graceful,  innocent  girl  leaning  forward,  with 
her  pale  cheeks  faintly  flushed,  her  eyes  large  and  intent, 
Lcr  lips  parted  in  breathless  interest.  Altogether  it  was 
Just  the  picture  that  you  might  see  at  the  Royal  Academy 
any  year,  painted  by  one  of  our  very  best  painters,  and 
called  "  Opulence,"  or  "  Killing  Time,"  or  "  A  Modem 
Prophetess,"  or  some  other  title  easy  to  be  understood  by 
the  public,  and  likely  to  please  the  critics  and  exonerate 
the  artist  from  any  suspicion  of  "  pot-boiling "  by  its 
hint  of  good-humoured  underlying  satire. 

**  Shuffle  again.  Thank  you.  .  .  .  Here's  a  stranger 
coming  to  the  house.  Five,  six,  seven.  Yes,  yes,  yes.  A 
stranger  coming  to  the  house  very  soon.  Shuffle  again, 
and  cut  as  I  told  you.  ... 

"  Yes,  there  you  are  again,  side  by  side." 

"  Which  one  is  he?  "  asked  Claire  in  an  enthralled  whis- 
per. 

"  King  of  Hearts.  You're  the  queen.  Yes,  he  looks 
to  you  every  time.  One,  two,  three,  four.  Yes,  there's 
the  ring." 

Emily  Joyce  laughed. 

"  There's  opposition  by  a  dark  woman.  There's  admi- 
ration— eight,  nine,  ten.  There's  quite  an  extraordinary 
amount  of  admiration." 

Emily  Joyce  interrupted.  "  Don't  fill  her  head  with 
nonsense." 

"  I'm  only  telling  her  what  the  cards  show ;  "  and  the 
fortune  went  on.  "  You'll  get  your  wish.  Yes,  it  has 
eome  out  every  time.  There;  that's  all.  You  may  rely 
on  it,  you'll  get  your  wish." 

"  What  was  your  wish,  Claire.? "  asked  Mrs.  Joyce, 
patronizingly. 

"  Oh,  she  mustn't  tell  her  wish,  or  she'll  spoil  it." 

"  No,  I  won't  tell  my  wish,"  said  Claire. 

The  fortune-teller  had  fastened  the  clasp  of  her  fur 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  11' 

c  oak  and  was  putting  on  her  gloves.  Emily  Joyce  asked 
1  er  if  she  Would  not  stay  to  luncheon ;  but  she  said  she 
I  lust  hurry  off. 

•*  Did  somebody  say  it  was  a  quarter  to  one?  "  asked 
-"  Irs.  Gilmour.  "  Really  the  morning  has  simply  flowiu 
.  ind  I  haven't  even  looked  at  the  newspaper  yet." 

The  morning,  however,  had  been  normal  rather  than 
extraordinary.  Mornings  and  whole  days  were  passed 
n  a  similar  manner.  Moreover,  Mrs.  Gilmour,  Emily 
foyce,  and  their  friends  were  typical  of  thousands  of 
equally  fortunate  and  prosperous  people  residing  within 
easy  reach. 

All  these  people,  both  male  and  female,  were  well-mean- 
ing and  at  heart  kind,  but  so  far  as  their  mental  life  was 
concerned  they  were  without  order  or  direction.  Their 
ordinary  thoughts  were  like  little  bits  of  dust  blown  about 
in  a  small  room :  never  going  far  but  often  taking  a  long 
while  to  settle.  They  guided  themselves  no  more  in  the 
fluid  maze  of  conjecture  and  imagination,  even  when  they 
fancied  they  were  cogitating,  than  little  corks  or  morsels 
of  wood  guide  themselves  when  they  float  and  dance  on 
the  surface  of  a  shallow  stream.  Experience  never  helped 
them;  memory  always  played  them  false.  Responding 
only  to  external  impulses,  pulled  about  and  to  and  fro 
by  unrecognized  irrelevancies,  postponing  all  important 
decisions  to  the  last  possible  moment  and  influenced  then 
most  of  all  by  processes  of  digestion,  doing  bold  things 
after  a  good  dinner,  feeling  nervous  on  an  empty  stomach, 
speaking  words  of  pessimism  under  the  transient  darkness 
of  a  bilious  headache;  and  for  these  reasons  performing 
the  great  acts  of  life  in  as  muddled  a  fashion  as  the 
slightest,  such  people  are,  most  strictly  speaking,  gov- 
erned by  chance. 

And  the  misfortune  is  that  if  you  are  compelled  to  live 
with  them,  although  your  nature  may  be  entirely  different 
from  theirs,  you,  too,  are  at  the  mercy  of  chance. 


12  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Good  gracious/*  said  Mrs.  Gilmour,  putting  down 
the  newspaper  as-  if  it  had  stung  her.  "  Is  to-day  the 
eighteenth.'^  Then  it's  to-night  that  we  have  our  dinner 
party.?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Emily  Joyce.  "  Had  you  forgotten, 
mother.'^  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  haven't  ordered 
dinner.?" 

No,  that  was  all  right.  Mrs.  Gilmour  had  settled  the 
menu  with  the  housekeeper  two  days  ago;  but  she  now 
began  to  hunt  for  something  in  drawers  and  desks,  reciting 
names  the  while.  "  Old  Sir  Kenelm  Grantley — he  is  com- 
ing, and  that  Evan  Giles;  and  the  Drysdales  are  coming 
— and  the  Pirbrights — and  old  Sir  Kenelm,  of  course." 

"  You  said  old  Sir  Kenelm  before." 

"  Did  I?     It  is  very  confusing " 

**  But  you  made  a  list,  I  suppose.?  " 

"  Naturally  I  made  a  list.  But  I  have  lost  the  list.  I 
should  have  thought  that  was  obvious." 

After  more  hunting  and  counting,  she  confessed  that 
what  hitherto  had  been  a  fear  was  now  a  certainty.  They 
would  be  thirteen  at  dinner. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Emily,  "  then  Claire  must  be  left  out 
of  it." 

"  You  are  sure  that  Leonard  will  be  with  us .?  '* 

"  Quite,"  said  Emily. 

So  it  was  at  once  arranged  that,  instead  of  attending 
the  dinner  party,  Claire  should  be  sent  to  the  theatre  with 
her  aunt  Agnes ;  and  Claire  was  delighted.  Aunt  Agnes, 
who  lived  round  the  comer  in  Hans  Place,  proved  avail- 
able for  the  evening,  and  Claire  felt  very  happy. 

But  their  troubles  were  not  over,  and  luncheon  was  a 
flustered  and  uncomfortable  meal.  Mrs.  Hackett,  the 
housekeeper,  hovering  round  them,  declared  herself  posi- 
tive that  sixteen  people  were  coming.  Mrs.  Gilmour  had 
said  so  distinctly. 

"  If  I  said  it  I  meant  it.'* 


'.6 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  13 

**  You  did  say  it,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Hackett,  with  great 
irmness. 

**  Then  you  may  depend  upon  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour, 

we  are  sixteen ; "  and  shortly  afterwards  she  gave  a 
cry  of  triumph.  "  Miss  Fergusson  and  her  brother ! 
Those  were  the  two  that  had  escaped  me."  And,  counting 
rapidly,  she  made  the  company  to  number  sixteen,  includ- 
ing Claire. 

Claire  must,  of  course,  dine  with  them;  she  could  not 
absent  herself  from  her  mother's  table  without  cause;  it 
would  not  be  proper  for  her  to  do  so.  A  message  was 
therefore  sent  to  Aunt  Agnes  cancelling  the  theatre  en- 
gagement, and  Claire  felt  disappointed. 

After  luncheon  two  blows  fell  upon  them  in  rapid  suc- 
cession. A  telegram  from  Colonel  Pirbright  announced 
with  regret  that  his  wife  was  ill,  and  both  she  and  he  must 
beg  to  be  excused. 

"  How  many  are  we  now?  "  said  Mrs.  Gilmour. 

"  Why,  fourteen,  of  course." 

"  Then  that  makes  no  difference  to  you,  Claire.  You 
remain  with  us,  dear.  Oh,  will  somebody  attend  to  that 
hateful  telephone.'*  Claire,  nm  and  stop  it.  The  servants 
are  all  at  their  dinner." 

Claire,  returning  from  the  telephone,  had  to  tell  them 
that  the  message  was  from  Leonard  Joyce.  He  was  very 
sorry,  but  unexpected  papers  would  detain  him  at  the 
office  till  a  late  hour. 

"  Then  we  are  thirteen  after  all,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour, 
seating  herelf  forlornly  on  a  chair  in  the  hall. 

"  Bother  Leonard,"  said  Mrs.  Joyce.  "  Then  we  shan't 
require  Claire.     She  can  have  her  theatre  treat." 

"  What  I  think  you  had  better  do,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Gilmour,  "  is  to  get  on  your  hat  and  coat,  and  go  round 
to  Agnes — ^taking  Pope  with  you,  of  course — and  explain 
exactly  what  has  happened." 

"  Oh,   I   can't   do   that,"   said   Claire,   deprecatingly. 


14  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

**  Aunt  Agnes  might  be  offended.    But  don't  trouble  about 
me  mother." 

Mrs.  Gihnour  gave  her  a  preoccupied  stare,  rose  ab- 
ruptly, and  began  to  pace  the  black  and  white  pavement. 
A  nasty  idea  haxl  taken  possession  of  her. 

"  I  do  beHeve,"  she  said,  "  that  I  have  been  led  into  the 
same  mistake  again,  and  counted  old  Sir  Kenelm  twice  for 
the  second  time.  .  .  .  If  I  have  done  so,  how  many  are 
we?  " 

"Why,  twelve,"  said  Emily.  "That  is,  without 
Claire." 

"  Without  Claire?  What  do  you  mean?  I  counted 
Claire.     Do  we  require  Claire  or  not?  " 

"  Well,  not  if  we  are  twelve." 

"  No,  you're  wrong.  I  mean,  I'm  right.  It  was  Miss 
Fergusson's  brother  I'd  missed.  But,  now,  on  my  honour, 
I  begin  to  think  there's  still  somebody  else  coming.  Stop. 
I  make  it  eleven  now,  without  counting  old  Sir  Kenelm." 

"  Then  that's  twelve  with  him.  My  only  suggestion  is 
that  Claire  should  be  dressed  and  ready,  and  if  she  isn't 
required,  well,  I  suppose  it  won't  kill  her  to  have  her 
dinner  upstairs  in  her  own  room." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Emily,"  said  Claire,  with  her  lips 
quivering.  "  You  are  always  so  thoughtful  and  consid- 
erate." 

**  My  dear  child,"  said  Emily  coldly,  "  I  am  perfectly 
willing  to  stand  out  myself  if  you  have  set  your  heart  on 
dining  downstairs." 

"  You  know  I  haven't." 

"  Or  if  you  aren't  ready  to  sacrifice  yourself  for  the 
good  of  the  community." 

"  You  know  very  well  that  I  am."  And  Claire  went  to 
a  window  of  the  morning-room  and  looked  out  at  the 
street.  She  did  not  see  very  much  of  the  street;  for,  in 
addition  to  the  double  glass  a^id  the  lace  curtains,  she  wae 
stupidly  allowing  her  eyes  to  be  obscured  by  moisture. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  15 

It  seemed  that  nothing  could  bring  ease  to  poor  Mrsu 
xilmour.  She  was  suffering  from  the  well-known  sensa- 
ion  of  having  a  name  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  and  yet 
)eing  unable  to  utter  it.  She  had  opened  every  door  on 
:he  ground  floor  and  she  passed  from  room  to  room 
taunting,  or  keeping  up  a  running  fire  of  talk  with  Emily 
sirhich  became  alternately  irritable  and  sympathetic. 

"  You  are  not  helping  me,  EmJly.  You  go  on  chatter- 
ing and  merely  perplex  me.    You  give  me  no  real  help.'* 

"  Oh,  very  good,"  and  Emily  had  the  hardest  of  her 
laughs.     "  The  rest  is  silence." 

"  I  own  I  have  been  unbusinesslike  this  time.  I  am 
usually  so  accurate.     I  can  only  make  us  nine  now." 

"  I  wish  you'd  sit  down,  mother.  You're  simply  wear- 
ing yourself  out." 

Then  Mrs.  Hackett,  the  housekeeper,  came  running 
down  the  staircase  calling: 

"  I've  found  it,  ma'am.  It  was  folded  quite  small  in 
the  pocket  of  your  amber  satin." 

It  was  the  lost  list,  and  Mrs.  Gilmour  and  Mrs.  Joyce 
stood  poring  over  it  unfolded  on  the  carved  oak  table. 

"  There,"  cried  Mrs.  Gilmour  triumphantly,  "  I  knew  I 
was  right.  There  is  somebody  else.  Mr.  Roderick 
Vaughan." 

"Who  on  earth  is  he?" 

Mr.  Roderick  Vaughan  was  a  friend  of  Cyril,  and  MrsL 
Gilmour  had  never  seen  him.  Cyril  had  asked  that  he 
should  be  invited. 

"  And  Cyril  himself  not  coming !  Well,  I  must  say,'' 
declared  Emily,  "  that  it's  a  tall  order  for  Cyril  to  ask 
an  unknown  man  like  that  and  not  be  here  to  entertain 
him.     How  do  we  know  who  he  is  or  what  he  is.'^" 

"  My  dear,  he's  a  friend  of  Cyril's." 

"  That  doesn't  say  much,"  and  Mrs.  Joyce  laughed 
again.     "  Anyhow  we  know  our  number  now." 

"  How  many  are  we.?  " 


16  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Fourteen." 

"  With  Claire  or  without  her?  " 

"  Why,  with  her,  of  course.  Otherwise  we  should  be 
thirteen." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  rolled  away  quite  peacefully  in 
the  car.  Claire  had  been  upstairs,  and  when  she  came 
down  to  find  out  what  was  happening  the  car  had  just 
left  the  door.  No  one  had  sent  her  any  message.  They 
had  gone  without  her.  They  had  not  known  that  she 
expected  to  accompany  them,  or  they  had  not  had  time 
to  look  for  her,  or,  talking  together,  they  had  failed  per- 
haps to  notice  that  she  was  not  in  the  car. 

Claire  went  upstairs  to  her  bedroom  again. 

It  was  just  such  a  young  girl's  room  as  one  would 
expect  to  find  in  a  house  of  this  kind :  lofty,  and  clean,  and 
fresh;  with  well-polished  furniture,  bright  cut-glass  and 
gay  wall-papers ;  with  dwarf  bookcases  full  of  the  books 
that  are  known  as  innocuous  classics;  with  silver  and 
ivory  on  the  toilet  table,  framed  photographs  on  the 
chimney-piece,  a  prayer  book  and  a  New  Testament,  both 
beautifully  bound,  within  reach  of  the  head  of  the  bed ; — 
with  all  the  pretty  things  that  one  would  look  for  as 
evidence  of  the  care  and  affection  that  are  as  it  were 
laid  on  in  such  households  like  the  electric  light  and  the 
hot  water. 

There  was  also  a  nice,  chintz-covered  sofa ;  and  Claire 
sitting  down  on  this,  cried  as  though  her  heart  would 
break. 

Her  mother  was  always  amiable  to  her ;  Emily  had  the 
very  best  intentions  with  regard  to  her;  in  all  her  life 
no  one  had  ever  struck  her  or  said  a  brutally  unkind  word 
to  her;  and  yet,  as  the  tears  flowed  in  an  unchecked 
stream,  she  felt  utterly,  abjectly  miserable. 

Her  mother  might  have  maternal  affection  for  her, 
but  she  did  not  want  her.  No  one  on  earth  wanted  her, 
or  was  really  fond  of  her  for  herself.     All  mother's  true 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  IT 

1  rve  was  given  to  Cyril.  The  little  that  was  left  over 
I  ad  been  absorbed  by  Emily.  Mother  liked  to  have  Emily 
^  ith  her ;  but  no  one  really  and  truly — not  mother  or 
i  nybody  else — wanted  Claire's  presence  or  suffered  from 
1  er  absence.  The  warm  flood  of  tears  seemed  to  carry 
i  way  with  it  the  last  torn  fragments  of  her  courage,  her 
lope,  her  power  to  endure. 

It  was  the  dinner-party  that  had  finished  her.  She  did 
I  ot  wish  to  attend  their  dinner,  oh,  far,  far  from  it ;  she  was 
s  ^  shy  that  such  festivities  were  still  big  with  dread  and  tor- 
3  nent  to  her ;  but  their  way  of  counting  her  into  and  out  of 
:he  party  had  so  fearfully  "  rubbed  in,"  as  Cyril  would  say, 
■he  sense  that  they  held  her  of  absolutely  no  account.  It 
lad  seemed  all  at  once  to  symbolize  by  little  material  things 
che  spiritual  neglect  from  which  she  was  suffering. 

Unlike  her  relatives,  she  possessed  that  wild,  deep  sort  of 
inner  life  which  must  find  its  issues  into  and  links  of  contact 
with  external  phenomena  if  one  is  to  be  at  peace.  She  had 
imagination ;  the  future  with  her  was  strong  enough  to 
make  the  passing  moment  often  seem  insignificant;  the 
past  was  always  vividly  alive.  To  think  of  things  was  to 
see  them.  Her  mind  was  a  wonderful  theatre,  a  palace  of 
moving  pictures,  a  whole  world,  too,  of  dreams  and 
fancies.  And  she  thought  now,  as  she  crouched  sobbing 
against  the  lilacs  and  rosebuds  on  the  chintz  sofa  cover, 
of  things  past,  present  and  to  come. 

The  pageant  of  Angela's  funeral,  the  resurrection  of 
the  dead,  the  sound  of  her  father's  voice,  the  queer  crack- 
ling noise  made  by  the  white  veils  of  the  nuns  at  the  con- 
vent where  she  received  her  education,  the  play  she  might 
have  gone  to  this  evening.  Nurse  Mitchell  sitting  on  a  low 
chair  rubbing  her  kne^s  with  liniment,  the  pensive  ex- 
pression of  Aunt  Agnes  alone  in  Hans  Place  to-night — 
she  seemed  to  meet  the  same  inexorable  logic  in  everything 
she  thought  of.  Nobody  was  fond  of  her  for  herself,  or 
ever  would  be. 


18  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Nurse  Mitchell  had  grudgingly  done  her  duty  to  her, 
holding  her  of  less  account  than  her  brother  and  sister; 
the  dear  nuns  had  been  kind  to  her,  and  fond  of  her  neither 
more  nor  less  than  they  were  fond  of  all  girls.  That  also 
applied  to  darling  Aunt  Agnes.  If  Aunt  Agnes  was  fonder 
of  her  than  of  the  other  girls  she  was  fond  of,  then  it  was 
because  instinctive  pity  mingled  with  the  love.  Cyril, 
whom  she  had  so  worshipped  years  ago,  had  quite  forgotten 
the  old  bond  of  tenderness  between  them.  Mrs.  Drysdale 
was  awfully  kind  to  her,  but  Mr.  Drysdale  was  to  Mrs. 
Drysdale  what  religion  was  to  the  nuns.  Nothing  else 
really  mattered.  Lady  Grantley  had  been  glad  for  her  to 
go  often  to  that  house  in  Park  Lane  and  read  aloud.  Yes, 
if  she  was  useful  to  people  they  remembered  her;  but  the 
moment  the  use  came  to  an  end  she  ceased  to  exist.  No  one 
had  ever  made  a  companion  of  her ;  and  it  was  companion- 
ship she  craved  for  so  desperately  that  death  seemed 
preferable  to  life  without  it. 

The  storm  of  grief  passed,  and  because  she  was  so 
young  and  so  completely  devoid  of  any  accurate  know- 
ledge of  human  affairs  hope  returned  to  her.  She  got  up 
and  walked  about  the  pretty  room,  discharged  a  gusty  sob 
near  the  window,  and  another  by  the  fireplace,  opened 
one  of  her  beloved  books  and  dropped  a  large  tear  in  it 
like  a  temporary  book-marker,  shook  her  head,  pushed 
back  her  hair  from  her  hot  forehead,  and  presently  had 
a  wan,  flickering  smile. 

She  stood  dreaming  now,  and  her  mind  was  as  young 
girls'  minds  should  be — a  wonderful,  airy,  mysterious  gar- 
den, with  feathery  branches  of  unknown  trees  and  flowers 
of  strange,  surpassing  loveliness,  through  and  beyond 
which  one  catches  glimpses  of  a  golden  landscape,  tower- 
ing heights  and  sunlit  valleys,  and  immense  distances — a 
place  as  innocent  as  the  Garden  of  Eden  before  the  fall — a 
place  that  you  cannot  understand  until  you  have  found 
your  way  into  it. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  19 

"  Oh,  well,  there,"  said  Pope,  her  maid.  "  I  see  you've 
l(  an  having  another  of  your  crying  fits.  It  i^  a  pity  the 
w  ly  you  give  way  to  them.  But,  if  the  truth  must  be 
t(  Id,  I  was  just  the  same  myself  at  your  age.  I'd  begin 
a  I  of  a  sudden,  and  then  I'd  go  on — for  no  reason,  you 
].  low,  miss,  but  just  cry  and  cry  as  if  I  was  never  going 
i)  stop." 

With  dignity  as  well  as  gentleness  Claire  indicated  that 
z  lese  consolatory  reminiscences  were  not  needed,  and  she 
g.  ave  Pope  some  orders  about  her  dress  for  the  party. 

In  due  course,  then.  Pope,  minding  her  own  business, 
pressed  her  mistress  becomingly,  and  Claire  went  down- 
.'  tairs,  paused  outside  the  doors  of  the  big  double  drawings 
rooms,  opened  a  door,  and  went  to  meet  her  fate. 

If  one  could  possibly  use  the  word  success  in  relation 
to  such  a  gathering,  one  might  say  that  Claire  was  the 
success  of  the  party.  Not  a  trace  of  all  those  tears  showed 
around  her  eyes ;  there  was  colour  under  her  transparent 
skin;  and  her  small,  white  teeth  were  visible  again  and 
again  in  bursts  of  rippling  laughter.  Once  she  thought 
how  wonderful  and  unfathomable  life  is ;  for  she  was  thor- 
oughly enjoying  herself.  And  old  Sir  Kenelm,  Mr.  Drys- 
dale,  and  other  gentlemen  thought  how  charming  is  the 
sight  of  a  young,  happy  girl  and  what  a  pretty  orna- 
ment she  makes  at  a  dinner  table  surrounded  by  dull 
fogeys. 

"  My  little  sister  is  quite  coming  out  of  her  shell,'* 
said   Emily,   patronizingly   but   good-naturedly. 

"  I  do  love  to  hear  her  laugh,"  said  Mr.  Drysdale  senti- 
mentally; and  then  he  beamed  in  the  direction  of  his 
middle-aged  wife,  as  if  adding:  "No  disloyalty  in  that 
remark  to  i/aii,  my  ever  dearest.  Your  laugh  is  the 
melody  that  I  love  best  of  all." 

Old  Sir  Kenelm  simpered  at  Claire  from  his  place  of 
honour  by  her  mother's  side,  and  watching  her  while  she 


20  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

prattled  and  laughed,  called  to  her  presently  across  the 
table : 

"  Too  bad  of  you,  Miss  Claire.  I  believe  you  are  talk- 
ing and  making  jokes  about  me/' 

Nothing  could  have  been  further  from  the  truth.  She 
was  talking  to  Mr.  Roderick  Vaughan  about  Sam  Weller's 
father,  and  the  jokes  at  which  she  laughed  had  all  been 
made  by  Dickens. 

The  new-comer  had  taken  her  down  to  dinner.  He  was 
a  strong,  well-built  man  of  over  thirty.  He  had  brown 
eyes,  full  lips  beneath  a  short  brushed-up  moustache,  good 
teeth,  and  dark,  close-cropped  hair.  He  was  very  fashion- 
ably dressed,  and  the  only  man  present  who  wore  a  flower 
in  his  coat.  But  Claire  noticed  these  outward  character- 
istics much  less  than  the  surprising  and  pleasant  fact  that 
he  was  so  extraordinarily  easy  to  get  on  with.  He  talked 
about  everything  in  the  same  jolly,  friendly  way.  He 
did  not  seem  to  know  a  great  deal  about  books,  yet 
obviously  he  loved  reading. 

"  I  am  glad  they  let  me  sit  by  you,''  he  said,  dropping 
his  full-toned  voice,  and  speaking  confidentially  towards 
the  end  of  the  meal ;  "  because  you  have  been  so  kind  to 
me.  You  know,  I  felt  awfully  nervous  and  shy  when 
I  arrived." 

"  No,  did  you  really  ?  "  asked  Claire,  with  enormous 
interest  and  growing  sympathy.  "  Well,  I  am  surprised ! 
Really  shy?" 

"  Trembling  with  shyness.  Naturally — never  having 
been  here  before.  But,  now,  thanks  to  you,  I  feel  quite 
at  home." 

"  I'm  so  glad." 

"  I  feel " — and  his  voice  was  quite  low  so  that  Claire 
had  to  lean  towards  him  to  catch  the  words — "  I  feel  as  if 
we  were   old  friends — real  friends." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Claire,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  again, 
and  looking  at  him  with  her  sweet,  frank  smile.     "  I  feel 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  21 

j  ist  like  that.  As  though  I  had  known  you  for  ages*^* 
Mr.  Vaughan  whispered  no  more,  but  for  a  moment  sat 
h  oking  at  her  in  silence.  His  brown  eyes  rested  content- 
€  lly  on  her  slim  white  throat,  the  sharp  curve  of  her  chin, 
h  ?r  sensitive,  mobile  lips.    Then  he  laughed  gaily  and  went 

0  1  talking  and  eating. 

He  talked  to  her  again  upstairs  in  the  drawing-room. 

1  [e  talked  about  her  music.  He  did  not  know  much  about 
music,  but  he  was  evidently  passionately  fond  of  it.  He 
legged  her  to  play  something  on  the  piano,  and  seemed 
f'enuinely  disappointed  when  she  explained  that  it  was 
cuite  impossible  for  her  to  do  so. 

"  I'll  play  to  you  some  other  time,"  she  hastened  to  add. 

"  But  when?  " 

"  Why,  any  time — when  you  come  to  see  us." 

^*  Then  I  may  come  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  may."  And  then  she  felt  momentarily 
(embarrassed,  because  she  fancied  she  might  have  implied 
an  assumption  of  proprietorial  rights  in  the  house  that  she 
did  not  possess.  ''  I  mean,  of  course,  /  don't  ask  people 
here.  Mother  does  all  that.  But  she  and  my  sister  both 
like  seeing  their  friends.  People  are  always  coming — I 
mean,  every  day." 

"  Oh,  I  won't  come  every  day,"  said  Mr.  Vaughan.  "  At 
any  rate,  not  at  first,"  and  he  laughed  cheerily.  And 
Claire  laughed  with  him,  because  he  had  said  it  so  funnily. 

As  soon  as  the  last  of  the  guests  had  gone,  Mrs.  Joyce 
suggested  that  Claire  should  not  be  allowed  to  sit  up  any 
longer.  She  herself  was  pining  to  begin  with  her  mother 
the  chattering  debate  that  always  followed  a  dinner-party. 
To-night,  however,  the  discussion  was  spoilt  by  the  return 
of  Cyril.  Claire,  going  upstairs  to  bed,  heard  him  and 
Emily  start  a  brisk  quarrel. 

"Who  asked  for  your  advice,  Emily?" 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  I  think  it's  high  time  you  got  advice 
from  somebody,  CyrU." 


22       FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

And  so  on. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  afterwards,  when  Claire  was 
safe  in  bed  reading  "Pickwick"  bj  the  shaded  electric  lamp 
that  stood  near  the  prayer-book,  Cyril  tapped  at  the  door 
and  came  into  her  room. 

"  Claire,"  he  said,  "  I  hear  you  did  the  civil  to  my  friend 
Vaughan,  and  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  and  have  come  to 
thank  you.  You  were  always  a  good-natured  kid.  What 
did  you  think  of  him?  " 

"  I  thought  him  very  nice  indeed." 

"  You  did  ?  And  I  think  he's  a  very  decent  fellow 
myself.  Anyhow,  he  put  me  under  an  obligation  to  him  the 
other  day,  and  as  I  don't  happen  to  like  shirking  my  obli- 
gations, I  endeavoured  to  repay  it  by  a  little  politeness. 
But,  if  you  please,"  and  Cyril  snorted  indignantly,  "  he  is 
not  good  enough  for  my  Lady  Emily.  No,  he  isn't  quite 
quite.  He  laughs  too  loud  for  her  ladyship.  Heaven 
knows  laughter  is  rare  enough  in  this  house,  and  anybody 
ought  to  be  praised  for  doing  it.  And  who's  Emily,  I'd 
like  to  know.?  Who  are  we,  any  of  us,  if  it  comes  to 
that?" 

Without  doubt,  short  as  Cyril  had  made  the  day  by 
getting  up  so  late,  it  had  been  long  enough  to  contain 
events  untoward  to  his  wishes.  His  charmers  had  treated 
him  harshly,  his  speculations  had  gone  wrong,  he  was  for 
the  hour  unhappy.  He  sat  on  the  edge  of  Claire's  bed, 
looking  tired,  discontented,  querulous. 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  smoke  ?  "  And  he  brought  out  a 
cigarette. 

"  No,  I  don't  mind.  But  I'm  not  sure  if  mother  would 
like  it." 

"  Oh,  will  she  come  in  and  see  you  the  last  thing  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Claire,  "  she  won't  do  that,  but  she  might 
smell  it." 

"  Hardly,  I  should  think,"  said  Cyril,  lighting  the 
cigarette.    And  then,  between  the  puffs,  he  indulged  in  a 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  23 

til  side  against  his  family  and  matters  in  general.  He  said 
su  h  violent,  reckless  things  before  he  had  done  that  Claire 
W;  5  quite  frightened  and  shaken. 

'*'  Claire,  I'm  about  fed  up  with  it.  One  day  I  shall  walk 
oi  fc  of  the  house  and  never  come  back  again.  My  father 
or  :en  said  he'd  do  it.     I  shall." 

"  Oh,  Cyril  !  " 

"  I  can't  stand  this  smug  respectability.  If  I  find 
myself  happier  in  freer  circles — artistic  circles — I  claim 
riy  right  to  join  them.     What's  the  family  to  me  ?  " 

"  But  mother !    You  know  what  you  are  to  her." 

"  Nevertheless,  if  she  cannot  cut  herself  adrift  from 
1  riddle-class  prejudices,  separation  must  ensue.  I'm  not 
going  to  turn  my  back  on  my  friends,  or  let  ladies  I  admire 
and  cherish  be  sneered  at.  Sneered  at  for  what?  "  And  he 
>vaved  the  cigarette  with  a  superb  gesture  of  lofty  irony. 
*'  Because  they  are  brave  enough  to  earn  their  own  living. 
Cvareer  at  the  bar.  What's  that  but  middle-class  smug- 
fiess?  I'm  not  going  to  chew  red  tape  and  snuff  dust  for 
the  rest  of  my  life,  in  order  to  gratify  Leonard  Joyce^ 
Uncle  Derek,  and  the  others." 

"  Why  do  you  keep  on  saying  middle-class,  Cyril  ? 
We  aren't  middle-class,  are  we  ?  " 

"  Of  course  we  are,  through  and  through.  Not  one 
thing  or  the  other,  without  the  boldness  of  nobles  or  the 
freedom  of  peasants — afraid  of  this,  afraid  of  that — 
timid  in  our  virtues,  timid  in  our  vices — doing  nothing  slap 
out — half  and  half  people  all  the  time — just  damnably 
middle-class.  Snobs,  too  1  Arrant  snobs.  See  how  we  try 
to  hang  on  the  skirts  of  the  aristocracy,  because  my 
great-aunt  happened  to  marry  the  second  son  of  a  peer — 
sucking  up  to  all  that  gang — ^kow-towing  to  that  old  ass, 
Uncle  Derek.  So,  I  say  for  one,  I'm  precious  near  sick  of 
it  all.  If  they  drive  me  a  few  more  inches,  I  shall  take  my 
life  into  my  own  hands.  I  shall  seek  wider  horizons.  I 
shall  say  *  Good-bye,  the  lot  of  you.'    I  shall  take  happi- 


24   ^  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

ness  where  I  find  it,  with  those  who  can  understand  and 
appreciate  me." 

"  But  mother,  Cyril  ?  You  simply  covldnH  desert  her.'' 

"  She'd  get  on  all  right  without  me.  She  thinks  not,  but 
I  dare  say  she'd  settle  down  more  comfortably,  very  likely, 
without  me.  Oh  don't  you  worry,  Claire.  I  shouldn't  be 
missed,  not  for  long."  And  he  got  up,  stretched  himself, 
and  threw  the  end  of  his  cigarette  into  the  fireplace. 
*^  Now  I  have  confided  in  you,  because  i/ou  are  not  a  snob, 
and  your  conduct  to-night  has  pleased  me,  and  because 
we  were  always  pals,  weren't  we?  Good-night."  And  he 
kissed  her  with  more  apparent  affection  than  he  had 
displayed  for  years. 

Then,  the  very  last  thing  of  all,  when  Claire  was  turning 
off  the  light,  Mrs.  Joyce  came  into  the  room.  She  looked 
very  big  and  overblown  in  her  Japanese  dressing-gown. 
She  had  just  finished  talking  things  over  in  her  mother's 
room. 

"  Claire,  csm  you  remember  the  exact  words  of  your 
fortune?  Didn't  she  tell  you  there  was  a  stranger  coming 
to  the  house,  and  he  would  admire  you?  A  lot  of  admira- 
tion, wasn't  it?  Very  extraordinary!  Because  Mr. 
Vaughan  was  an  absolute  stranger  to  us  all,  and  both  he 
and  old  Sir  Kenelm  paid  you  a  great  deal  of  attention." 

In  her  love  of  the  marvellous  and  her  keen  desire  neatly 
to  match  the  divination  with  subsequent  events,  she  was 
reckless  now  about  putting  nonsense  into  the  girl's  head. 
She  went  away,  murmuring,  "  Very  extraordinary,  I  Ttmst 
say." 


CHAPTER  II 

A  LL  thought  of  the  queerly  foreshadowed  stranger, 

A-%     Mr.  Vaughan,  was  soon  banished  from  the  mind  of 

^  *  Mrs.  Gilmour  by  strange  occurrences  on  that  shift- 

iig  quicksand  of  accidents  which  she  had  crossed  in  her 

c  aily  life  for  so  many  years. 

On  the  afternoon  that  followed  the  dinner  party,  her 
(Id  friend  Sir  Kenehn  Grantley  drove  up  to  the  house  in 
Ids  neat  little  brougham,  presumably  for  the  purpose  of 
telling  Mrs.  Gilmour  how  much  he  had  enjoyed  himself 
(vver  night,  and  to  present  to  her  the  orchid  blooms  and  the 
box  of  peaches  that  he  had  brought  with  him  in  the  car- 
riage. Mrs.  Gilmour,  highly  gratified  by  these  civilities, 
left  him  alone  with  Claire  in  the  morning-room,  while  she 
attended  to  her  presents  ;  and,  engrossed  in  the  amuse- 
ment of  watching  Mrs.  Hackett  put  the  orchids  in  water^ 
and  Belton  take  the  peaches  out  of  cotton  wool,  she  per- 
mitted herself  to  abandon  the  visitor  for  a  considerable 
time,  if  she  did  not  temporarily  forget  about  him  alto- 
gether. 

"  Ah,  yes,  indeed,'*  said  Sir  Kenelm  to  Claire,  "  Isabelle 
was  more  than  my  better  half.  She  was  a  saint,  in  the 
full  meaning  of  the  word.  Not  narrow^  but  brimming  over 
with  love  and  charity  for  all  mankind.  So  patient  too. 
You  had  many  opportunities  of  seeing  her  patience  and 
fortitude  under  all  that  grievous  pain." 

Claire  had  indeed  been  very  kind  to  his  poor  dead  wife, 
and  he  now  went  maundering  on  about  this. 

"  The  little  friend  with  the  light  foot-fall!  That's  how 
I  used  to  think  of  you ;  "  and  he  smiled  at  her  tenderly. 
"  Oh,  yes,  I  observed  you — although  not  allowed  to  share 
in  the  sweet  companionship.    I  used  to  listen  to  your  voice, 

25 


26  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

as  I  stood  outside  the  door,  when  you  were  reading  aloud 
to  h^r.  I  often  wished  to  enter  the  room  and  peep  at  you, 
but  would  not  do  so  for  fear  of  appearing  intrusive  or 
troublesome ;  "  and  he  took  Claire's  hand,  and  patted  it 
softly.     "  You  don't  mind  my  dwelling  on  the  past  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.     I'm  so  sorry  for  you — so  dreadfully  sorry.'* 

She  did  not  mind.  She  was  full  of  sympathy.  When 
Lady  Grantley  died  it  had  been  said  that  he  would  not  live 
for  more  than  two  years ;  and  Claire  had  taken  a  childish 
interest  in  this  prognostication,  wondering  if  grief  really 
killed  people,  and  why,  if  so,  its  lethal  action  was  thus 
delayed.  Why  did  it  not  kill  at  once  ?  However,  that  was 
over  four  years  ago,  and  here  was  Sir  Kenelm  still  alive, 
looking  no  more  feeble  than  he  had  always  looked,  smiling, 
and  patting  her  hand  till  the  gentle  exercise  seemed  to 
fatigue  him,  and  relinquishing  it  he  began  to  cough. 

^'  I  only  caught  my  breath,  dear  Miss  Claire.  What  was 
I  saying  ?  Yes,  I  think  you  felt  that  the  old  house  was  a 
sort  of  second  home  to  you.  You  knew  that  your  presence 
there  was  looked  for  with  pleasure.  It  is  all  just  the  same. 
Nothing  has  been  altered.  It  needs  redecorating,  I  dare 
say.     I  wish  you  would  come  and  go  over  it  with  me." 

Claire  said  very  politely  and  sympathetically  that  if 
Sir  Kenelm  wished  it  she  would  be  only  too  glad.  She 
would  ask  her  mother  to  take  her  up  to  Park  Lane  at  the 
first  opportunity. 

"  Yes,"  said  old  Sir  Kenelm.  "  I  will  speak  to  your 
mamma  myself.  I  will  tell  her  my  wish.  I  will  tell  her 
all  my  wishes.  I  must  say  nothing  further  to  you.  Miss 
Claire,  till  I  have  addressed  her." 

And  by  dinner-time  this  same  evening  it  was  known  to 
everybody  in  the  house,  as  well  as  to  a  good  many  people 
outside  the  house,  that  Sir  Kenelm  had  made  a  formal 
proposal  for  the  hand  of  Miss  Claire  in  marriage. 

Claire  laughed  when  they  told  her  about  it.  Really  it 
seemed  so  monstrously  ridiculous  that  she  thought  it  was 
all  a  joke;  but  Mrs.  Gilmour  assured  her  that  Sir  Kenelm 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  2t 

■^    s  quite  in  earnest,  and  an  answer  must  be  given  to  him. 

'*'  The  answer  is  in  the  negative,  of  course,"  said  Claire, 
st  11  smiling.  "  But  I  do  wonder  what  on  earth  made  him 
t   ink  of  marrying  me^  of  all  people." 

*'  Well,  my  dear,  it  seems  that  watching  you  grow  up  he 

I  ,s  formed  a  very  high  opinion  of  your  character.  He 
t  J  inks  you  are  the  only  person  he  would  really  care  to  see 
c,^  leening  it  in  the  place  of  poor  Lady  Grantley.     He  has 

I I  oumed  for  her  long  and  deeply,  but  now,  as  I  gather,  he 
c  )nsiders  that  the  time  has  come  again  to  admit  brightness 
a  ad  gaiety  into  his  life." 

Claire  had  ceased  smiling.  Truly  it  was  no  laughing 
matter.  She  stared  at  the  faces  of  her  mother  and  Emily, 
and  became  almost  horror-stricken;  for  she  saw  plainly 
that  both  of  them  considered  the  dreadful  boring  old 
gentleman  to  be  quite  a  possible  husband.  A  bitterly  pain- 
ful thought  came  to  her:  ''How  they  must  want  to  be 
lid  of  me,  if  they  are  ready  to  jump  at  such  a  chance  as 
this." 

Her  mother  had  perhaps  been  as  much  surprised  and 
nearly  as  much  shocked  by  the  notion  as  Claire  herself, 
when  their  ancient  friend  opened  his  mind  to  them.  But 
then  she  began  to  see  the  advantages  of  the  plan.  It  would 
cut  the  knot  of  so  many  fast  approaching  difficulties. 
There!  would  be  no  season  to  do  next  year,  with  its  heavy 
task  of  chaperonage.  Claire,  of  course,  would  go  to  Court 
on  her  marriage,  and  that  would  be  her  husband's  business. 
If  Claire  fell  into  the  plan,  of  her  own  free  will,  it  would 
mean  an  escape  from  all  kinds  of  trouble  and  weariness. 
But  Mrs.  GUmour  was  very  firm  with  herself  when  thinking 
in  this  manner.  She  said,  "  What  I  have  to  hope  for  is 
what  will  be  best  for  Claire,  and  not  what  will  be  most  con- 
venient to  me  and  others." 

She  said  this  to  Claire  next  day,  and  repeated  the  same 
sort  of  thing  day  after  day. 

"  I  don't  want  to  influence  you  either  way — for  or 
against.    It  is  for  you  to  decide." 


28  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

**  Mother,  I  couldn't.     I  simply  covl&nH,''^ 

"  Very  well,  dear.  All  I  say  is,  in  justice  to  Sir  Kenelm, 
it  would  not  be  kind  to  give  too  hasty  a  refusal,  even  if 
you  have  already  made  up  your  mind.'* 

"  Mother,"  cried  Claire,  "  promise  me  you're  not  going 
to  make  me  do  it  against  my  wiD." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Mrs.  Gihnour,  with  firmness. 
^  That  would  be  very  wrong  indeed." 

Nevertheless  she  continued  to  brood  upon  the  advan- 
tageous side  of  the  proposal.  From  time  immemorial  she 
and  the  rest  of  the  family  had  never  spoken  of  the  suitor 
except  as  ^*  old  Sir  Kenelm ;  "  but  now  it  was  to  be  ob- 
€erved  that  neither  she  nor  anyone  else  used  the  invidious 
qualification  when  mentioning  his  name. 

Emily  Joyce  was  altogether  in  favour  of  the  match, 
which,  as  she  declared,  many  people  would  regard  as  a  most 
brilliant  one;  and  she  made  nothing  of  the  disparity  of 
the  respective  ages  of  husband  and  wife. 

"  I  wouldn't  say  in  all  cases,  but  in  this  case  I  don't 
think  it  matters  a  straw,"  she  declared  roundly.  "  You 
see,  Claire  is  such  an  odd,  aloof  sort  of  girl  that  she  will 
never  miss  the  sort  of  things  some  girls  might  crave  for. 
She  likes  elderly  people.  Who  are  her  especial  friends  ? 
Who  do€S.  she  make  chums  of  ?  Why,  Aunt  Agnes,  Mrs. 
Drysdale,  that  Mr.  Giles  the  writing  man.  Every  one  of 
them  elderly.  And  Lady  Grantley!  Older  than  Sir 
Kenelm  himself.  I  challenge  you  to  name  any  girls  or 
young  men  for  whom  she  has  ever  seemed  to  show  any 
partiality." 

And  Mrs.  Gilmour  agreed,  forgetting,  no  doubt,  that 
Claire  had  not  been  afforded  many  opportunities  of  show- 
ing pleasure  in  juvenile  society. 

"  No,"  continued  Emily,  "  Claire  was  born  to  be  a  nurse 
or  guardian.  It  is  an  instinct  with  her  to  be  moved  quickly 
by  the  least  feeling  of  pity ;  and  all  the  more  credit  to  her 
Jor  it.  She  likes  looking  after  invalids,  taking  care  of 
Ettle  children,  and  all  that.    I  have  noticed  her  again  and 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  20 

ag  tiiL  If  there  was  anybody  here  as  a  visitor  who  was 
la  I  le,  or  in  deep  mourning,  or  looking  neglected,  Claire 
wc  lid  always  work  her  way  round  to  them  and  as  it  were 
W£  tch  over  them  and  try  to  make  them  comfortable.  It 
W:  s  just  the  same  thing  the  other  night  when  that  Mr. 
Vj  ughan  came.  Because  she  thought  we  were  inclined  to 
lo  >k  down  on  him  and  treat  him  coldly  she  was  all  over 
hi  n.  You  know  what  I  mean?  The  slang  phrase.  Well, 
of  course,  with  Sir  Kenelm,  that  instinct  of  her  nature  will 
hi  thoroughly  satisfied.  Furthermore,"  and  Emily 
laughed;  "that  argument  of  his  age  cuts  both  ways., 
Bother,  doesn't  it?  If  Sir  Kenelm  is  so  old,  he  isn't  going 
t:  live  for  ever.  Which  means  that  Claire  will  be  left  roll- 
ing in  money  and  her  own  mistress  while  still  a  young 
woman." 

She  spoke  freely  to  Claire  of  other  material  consider^ 
&  :ions  in  favour  of  Sir  Kenelm.  His  collection  of  pictures 
was  as  interesting  as  valuable.  And  beyond  the  Park 
Lane  house  there  was  the  place  in  Buckinghamshire  where 
lie  grew  the  orchids  and  the  early  peaches.  "  Really 
beautiful  gardens,"  Leonard  says ;  "  all  in  terraces,  one 
above  another.    You  Wee  gardens,  Claire." 

But  Claire  was  unmoved  by  arguments,  or  rather  waa 
frightened  instead  of  being  convinced  by  them.  She 
thought  of  being  the  wife  of  Sir  Kenelm  without  at  all 
thinking  of  what  marriage  really  means.  She  saw  herself 
driving  about  in  the  pill-box  brougham  with  him,  fetching 
one  of  his  white  scarfs  to  wrap  round  his  neck,  reading 
aJoud  to  him  late  at  night,  and  did  not  even  think  of  hav- 
ing to  kiss  him  when  they  met  at  breakfast  in  the  morning. 
Yet  her  thoughts  were  sufficient.  She  understood  that  she 
would  belong  to  him.  She  knew  that  he  would  be  her  daily 
companion,  and  she  knew  that  she  could  not  bear  it.  So 
with  tears  she  implored  her  mother  to  tell  Sir  Kenelm  out- 
right, and  at  once,  that  he  must  replace  Lady  Grantley 
with  somebody  else  or  continue  to  rub  along  by  himself. 

"  Very  well,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour.    "  It  shall  be  so. 


30  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Now  dry  your  eyes — and  help  me  to  look  for  my  tortoise- 
shell  card-case.  The  way  things  disappear  from  under 
one's  very  hands.  Really  as  if  bewitched.  I  had  it  a 
moment  ago.    .    .    .    Oh,  thank  you  so  much,  Claire." 

Being  always  as  good  as  her  word,  whenever  she  hap- 
pened to  remember  it,  Mrs.  Gilmour  duly  delivered  Claire's 
ultimatum  to  Sir  Kenelm;  but  it  was  only  to  bring  forth 
another  unforeseen  weariness  to  her.  Sir  Kenelm  said 
he  would  not  take  "  No  "  for  an  answer. 

*^  Oh,  no,"  he  said  gallantly,  "  charming  young  ladies 
must  not  be  hurried,  much  less  pestered,  on  such  occasions. 
It  is  their  privilege  to  claim  unlimited  time  to  make  up 
their  minds.  It  is  all  a  new  idea  to  dear  Miss  Claire, 
although  one  that  I  have  nourished  for  a  great  while.  Tell 
her  to  take  time,  and  that  I  shall  go  on  hoping ;  "  and  he 
sat  in  front  of  Mrs.  Gilmour,  smiling,  simpering,  nodding 
his  bald  head,  while  she  sat  staring  at  him  with  an  expres- 
sion of  worry  and  fatigue. 

*^  No,  my  dear  ^old  friend,  it  is  no  idle  fancy  with  me. 
Assure  our  dear  young  lady  that  I  am  not  angry  or  even 
huffed  because  she  cannot  at  once  gratify  my  wishes.  I 
will  wait — yes,  quite  patiently." 

There  was  nothing  about  him  either  satyric  or  sugges- 
tive of  the  two  apocryphal  elders;  he  was  simply  idiotic. 
Although  fully  alive  to  the  charm  of  the  girl's  youth  and 
freshness,  he  had  not  a  single  sensual  or  unworthy  thought. 
He  too  thought  of  the  marriage  as  of  a  life-long  com- 
panionship and  nothing  else.  In  imagination  he  also  saw 
himself  driving  about  in  the  little  brougham  with  his  young 
wife.  He  saw  himself  slip  his  arm  in  hers  and  take  a  little 
support  from  her  as  they  ascended  the  stairs  at  Christie  & 
Maason's  rooms.  He  heard  himself  twaddling  to  her 
about  one  of  the  lots  for  sale — a  real  little  gem — The 
Haymcbkers  by  Wackermann— panel — ten  Inches  by  eight. 
*'  Shall  we  secure  it  for  our!  very  own,  Claire?  Very  well, 
dear.  You  and  I  will  sit  side  by  side  over  here  looking 
very  unconcerned,  while  Mr.  Isaacson  bids  for  us."   Then 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  31 

B  :ter  hours  spent  in  such  pleasant  bandinage  and  excite- 
r  ent,  they  would  drive  home  in  the  brougham  with  The 
1  [aymakers  between  them,  both  of  them  holding  it,  both  of 
t  lem  as  happy  as  birds.  All  that  he  saw  or  heard  in  these 
i  aaginings  was  intensely  enjoyable  to  him;  and  he  was  s<» 
V  ^mpletely  incapable  of  mentally  putting  himself  in  an- 
( ther  person's  place  that  he  could  not  for  a  moment  xuider- 
;tand  that  it  would  not  all  be  enjoyed  by  Claire  too. 

"  No,  no,"  he  repeated,  smiling  benevolently.  "  I  do 
3  lot  dream  of  renouncing  my  suit ;  and  all  will  come  right 
n  the  end.  If  you  will  permit  me  to  come  now  and  then, 
!I  will  not  abuse  the  privilege.  And  I  promise  not  to  be 
obtrusive  either,  by  asking  for  a  tete-a-tete  with  Mademoi- 
;jelle — unless  she  herself  graciously  suggests  it.  1  will  let 
:ime  plead  my  cause." 

Mrs.  Gilmour,  reporting  the  conversation  to  Emily, 
said  it  got  on  her  nerves;  but  Emily  avowed  that  she 
thought  the  attitude  adopted  by  Sir  Kenelm  was  rather 
fine. 

^*.But  what  are  we  to  do?  If  he  persists,  it  will  be 
agitating  Claire  to  no  purpose  as  well  as  being  so  wearing 
to  everybody  else." 

During  these  weeks  of  doubt  and  anxiety  Mr.  Roderick 
Vaughan  had  come  to  the  house  once  or  twice,  and  Mrs, 
Gilmour  had  been  too  preoccupied  to  bother  aboiit  him. 
He  also  brought  presents — more  flowers  for  Mrs.  Gilmour, 
a  box  of  sweets  for  Emily,  and  a  book  for  Claire.  His 
presence  was  a  relief  to  Claire;  she  compared  him  with 
the  silly  old  man,  and  the  comparison  was  very  much  in 
Mr.  Roderick's  favour.  The  little  compact  of  friendship 
that  they  had  made  at  their  first  meeting  was  tacitly  re- 
newed or  confirmed ;  and  in  several  conversations  with 
him,  although  naturally  she  did  not  speak  of  Sir  Kenelm, 
she  found  herself  talking  of  her  thoughts  and  feelings  with 
more  freedom  than  she  had  ever  yet  attained. 

One  afternoon  when  her  mother  and  sister  returned  from 
Woollands'  spring  sale,  Claire  was  playing  Chopin  to  him 


32  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

in  the  morning-roam.  He  leaned  on  the  piano  watching 
her  face,  her  attentive  eyes,  her  busy  fingers;  and  their 
low-toned  voices  made  an  accompaniment  to  the  slow  move- 
ment of  the  nocturne.  He  sprang  to  attention  when  the 
others  entered  the  room,  and  for  the  remainder  of  the 
visit  was  assiduous  in  making  himself  agreeable  to  Mrs. 
Joyce;  laughing  exuberantly,  at  one  of  her  facetious 
anecdotes,  accusing  her  of  cynicism,  and  even  venturing 
tentatively  and  deferentially  to  chaff  her.  He  succeeded 
so  well  that  he  was  allowed  to  extend  his  visit  till  long 
after  tea;  and  then,  at  the  last,  astounding  as  it  seemed, 
he  only  went  away  in  order  to  dress  and  come  back  to 
dinner.  He  had  gained  Emily's  approbation,  at  any  rate 
for  one  evening,  by  his  brilliant  suggestion  that  he  should 
take  her  and  Claire  to  the  Palace  Music  Hall  to  see  the 
wonderful  new  thought-readers  about  whom  all  the  world 
was  talking. 

"You  do  like  him  now,  don't  you,  Emily?''  Claire 
asked  her  after  the  music  hall  entertainment. 

*'  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Joyce  cordially.  "  I  think  he  is  a 
very  cheery  person,  and  most  obliging.  .  .  .  Did  you  ever 
see  anything  more  astounding  than  that  man's  reading  of 
the  post-mark  on  my  envelope?  He  read  it  without  a 
moment's  pause.  You  bear  me  out  in  that?  And  the  en- 
velope had  never  been  within  sixty  feet  of  him." 

Henceforth  Mr.  Vaughan  and  Emily,  for  a  little  while, 
hit  it  off  together  extremely  well.  They  indulged  now  in 
passages  of  open  chaff,  a  rough-and-ready  cudgel  play  of 
humour  rather  than  the  fine  rapier  work  of  wit,  during 
which  Emily  became  quite  elemental,  as  was  her  wont  when 
gay,  and  used  such  expressions  as  "  Oh,  go  along;  Yes,  I 
dare  say ;  I  have  been  there  before,  thank  you  "—expres- 
sions which  would  have  greatly  surprised  her,  could  they 
have  been  carefully  recorded  and  submitted  to  her  for 
consideration,  when  she  had  cooled  down  after  her 
merriment. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  33 

Treated  thus,  not  at  all  as  a  stranger  but  on  familiar 
and  easy  terms,  Roddy,  as  he  said  he  was  called  by  his 
intimates,  aided  with  advice  sometimes  in  the  minor  difficul- 
ties which  each  hour  produced  for  the  household. 

"  The  only  chance  of  getting  the  hat  safely  home,"  said 
Emily  decisively,  "  is  to  send  somebody  to  fetch  it  before 
Madame  Alcide  closes." 

She  was  speaking  of  her  own  new  hat,  which  she  craved 
to  wear  to-morrow  morning,  and  which  would  have  been 
here  now  if  Madame  Alcide  had  kept  her  promise. 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated,  "  the  only  possible  chance.  It's 
past  five,  and  I  believe  she  closes  at  six.  But  who  can  go? 
Claire,  may  I  send  Pope?  Do  run  and  tell  her  to  get 
ready  without  a  moment's  delay." 

"  Who  is  Pope?  "  asked  Roddy  Vaughan,  showing  po- 
lite interest  in  everything. 

"  Claire's  maid." 

Emily  was  fond  of  sending  Pope  on  errands,  and,  be- 
lieving that  Pope  had  insufficient  work  to  do,  often  taxed 
her  brain  to  find  something  which  would  keep  Pope  busy ; 
but  this  was  a  case  of  urgency.  She  really  needed  Pope 
now. 

Then,  however,  the  question  arose  as  to  how  to  convey 
Pope  to  the  bonnet-maker's.  Mrs.  Gilmour  did  not  wish 
to  disturb  the  chauffeur  again.  Yet  if  Pope  went  mud- 
dling round  in  omnibuses  or  failed  to  get  a  cab,  the  whole 
errand  might  prove  a  failure.  Time  inexorably  urged 
her. 

Roddy  Vaughan  was  prompt  with  an  offer  of  assistance. 
*^  I'll  take  her  there  in  my  taxi,  and  send  her  back  in  it." 

"  It's  too  kind  of  you,  but  I  oughtn't  to  let  you  do  it," 
said  Emily,  brisk  and  gracious  as  she  hurried  him  out  to 
the  hall.  \ 

A  minute  later  he  and  Pope  were  rattling  through  Len- 
nox Gardens  in  the  taxi-cab.  She  was  a  shapely  and  suf- 
ficiently well-favoured  young  woman  of  thirty  or  thirty- 


34  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

two,  and  Roddy  at  once  paid  her  a  full-bodied  downright 
compliment  on  her  personal  charms. 

"  Oh,  really,"  said  Pope,  apparently  neither  scared  nor 
offended. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Pope,  that's  a  fact,  as  you  know  very  well, 
my  dear,  in  spite  of  your  fascinating  modesty.  You  don't 
run  short  of  sweethearts,  I'm  sure ; "  and  he  laughed 
genially.  "  But  don't  think  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  add 
me  to  their  number.  Very  likely  I  should  have,  in  other 
circumstances;  but  just  now,  as  it  happens,  I'm  desperate- 
ly in  love  with  somebody  else — your  young  mistress." 
»  "  Oh,  sir,  I  don't  know  whether  it's  right  for  me  to 
listen  when  you  tell  me  things  like  that." 

"  Of  course  it  is.  I'm  candid  and  open.  I  never  beat 
about — always  come  straight  to  the  point." 

He  had  brought  out  his  sovereign  purse,  and  lamplight 
as  they  passed  it  showed  him  extracting  one  gold  coin 
after  another  as  though  he  expected  to  have  a  big  bill  to 
pay  for  the  taxi-cab. 

"  I  want  you  to  put  me  up  to  all  sorts  of  tips — to  tell 
me  all  about  her,  and  mamma  and  the  others — the  whole 
state  of  affairs — and  to  be  quick  about  it.  I  swear  you 
can  trust  me.  My  intentions  are  strictly  honourable,  and 
I'm  beginning  to  worship  the  ground  she  treads  on." 

Importuned  so  earnestly.  Pope  told  him  at  least  this ; 
that  she  believed  Miss  Claire  had  never  been  happy  at 
home,  and  that  she  was  very  unhappy  there  now  because 
they  were  all  trying  to  make  her  marry  a  horrid  elderly 
gentleman  for  his  money. 

"  But  they  won't  do  it,"  said  Roddy.  "  Not  if  /  can 
help  it.  And  not  if  i/ou  can  help  it  either,  eh?  Remem- 
ber, Miss  Pope,  on  my  word  of  honour,  I'm  not  the  sort 
that  forgets  the  friends  who  give  him  a  hand.  No,  I'm 
grateful,  and  I  make  it  worth  their  while,  if  it  lies  in  my 
power  to  do  so." 


CHAPTER  III 

*  'TTTI  MILY,"  said  Mrs.  Gilraour,  "  your  aunt  Agnes 

Bi  i  has  sent  me  a  rather  silly  letter.  Somebody  has 
been  telling  her  about  Sir  Kenelm.  I  wonder  who 
^an  possibly  have  told  her." 

"  Oh,  everybody  knows.  What  does  Aunt  Agnes  say 
;n  her  letter?  " 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  she  says  she  is  coming  round  to 
see  us.  I  must  confess  that  I  sometimes  dread  Agnes.  She 
in  so  incurably  sentimental,  and  in  any  argument  with  her 
I  always  feel  at  a  disadvantage  from  the  fact  that  she  is 
still  unmarried.  One  has  to  keep  on  remembering  that 
although  over  sixty  she  is  a  spinster,  and  there  are  there- 
fore so  many  topics  that  one  cannot  touch  upon,  much 
less  discuss  without  reserve." 

Miss  Agnes  Graham  was  Mrs.  Gilmour's  only  sister, 
and  their  characters  and  temperaments  were  singularly 
unlike.  Possessed  of  a  modest  competence,  Agnes  lived  in 
her  quaint  little  house  in  Hans  Place,  surrounded  by  pretti- 
ness,  taste,  order,  and  comfort.  She  was  adventurous, 
fond  of  travel,  always  eager  for  new  experiences.  Al- 
though so  quiet  and  ladylike,  she  Was  absolutely  emanci- 
pated in  all  her  ideas;  she  was  not  afraid  of  any  facts; 
she  had  no  prejudices,  no  religion,  not  even  superstitions; 
but  she  was  extraordinarily  kind,  believing  firmly  in  love, 
and  that  this  one  short  life  of  ours  should  not  be  wasted. 
She  was  devoted  to  young  people,  especially  to  Claire- 
much  more  so  than  Claire  herself  knew. 

Her  reputation  for  excessive  sentimentality  had  been 
earned  solely  by  the  things  she  said  concerning  youth  and 
love.  She  spoke  at  all  times  gently,  almost  caressingly; 
but,  as  the  family  knew  well,  she  had  often  a  do^vnright 

35 


36  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

tongue,  and  on  occasions  could  utter  very  sharp  words 
with  a  very  sweet  manner. 

When  angry  she  never  lost  control  of  herself,  but  her 
bright  little  eyes  used  to  glitter,  and  faint  red  patches 
glowed  high  on  her  cheekbones,  almost  as  if  she  had  dabbed 
them  with  a  rouge  pad.  Both  these  danger  signals  were 
perceptible  as  she  gently  told  Mrs.  Gilmour  and  Emily 
that  it  was  an  impious  shame  to  traffic  with  Sir  Kenelm 
in  young  flesh  and  blood. 

"  What  ideas  you  do  get  into  your  head,  Agnes.  Of 
course  Claire  isn't  going  to  be  forced  to  do  anything 
against  her  will." 

"Isn't  she.?  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Agnes,  in 
soothing  tones.  "  But  if  you  are  tired  of  her  and  don't 
appreciate  her,  let  her  come  and  live  with  me.  Give  her 
her  money — ^let  her  have  the  money  to  which  she's  entitled,^ 
and  ril  take  care  of  her." 

"  She  isn't  entitled  to  any  money,"  said  EmUy.  "  No 
money  at  all  till  she's  twenty-five  years  of  age." 

"Isn't  she,  Emily  dear.f^  But  she's  entitled  to  a  just 
and  proper  lise  of  the  money,  for  her  benefit.  And  the 
capital  too,  if  she  marries  a  suitable  husband." 

"  Yes,  if  mother  approves  and  consents." 

'*  It  doesn't  look,  dear,  as  if  your  mother's  approval 
will  be  difficult  to  gain." 

"  I  don't  agree,"  said  Emily,  tackling  her  aunt  in  a 
matter-of-fact  and  resolute  style.  "  As  mother  has  told 
you,  she  has  no  intention  of  influencing  Claire  in  favour  of 
Sir  Kenelm.  Claire  has  said  *  No,'  and  nothing  will  be  done 
unless  she  says  *  Yes.'    But  in  my  humble  opinion " 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  call  it  humble,  Emily  dear.  At  any 
rate,  you're  always  ready  to  give  it  to  us,  aren't  you?  " 

"  That  may  be  so  or  not ;  "  and  Emily  laughed  hardly. 
"  But  my  opinion  is,  for  what  it's  worth,  that  from  knowl- 
edge of  Claire  and  all  the  circumstances  she  can't  do  bet- 
ter than  accept  Sir  Kenelm's  offer." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  37 

"But  what  ai:e  the  circumstances?  "  And  the  eyes  of 
.  iunt  Agnes  were  glittering.  "  Da  you  mean  that  Claire 
]  las  fallen  in  love  with  the  old  monkey  ?  " 

Mrs,  Gilmour  made  a  helpless  gesture.  There  you  were. 
>heer  sentimentality.  But,  determined  to  bear  with  it, 
lowever  fatiguing,  she  spoke  tolerantly  and  placidly. 

"  Agnes,  of  course  what  Emily  implies  is  that  Claire  at 
ler  age  is  perhaps  not  so  competent  to  judge  as  are  those 
dth  far  greater  experience  and  much  older  than  she." 

"  Meaning  you  and  Emily.?  " 

"  Emily  winced  and  flushed ;  Mrs.  Gilmour  went  on 
smoothly. 

"  Marriages  made  simply  for  love  sound  very  attractive, 
when  described  in  books  and  so  forth,  but  does  not  ex- 
perience show  that  they  are  often  far  from  the  happiest  .f* 
Our  parents  made  the  match  between  Claire's  father  and 
me,  and  I  will  freely  confess  that  I  was  not  in  love  with 
him." 

"  No,"  said  Agnes,  "  but  you  did  not  dislike  him  as 
much  as  you  came  to  do  afterwards." 

Mrs.  Gilmour  gave  a  little  cry  as  of  pain,  and  then 
quite  lost  her  temper.  She  said  that  Agnes  had  seriously 
offended  her.  She  and  the  late  Mr.  Gilmour  had  been  very, 
very  fond  of  each  other. 

"  Yes,"  said  Agnes,  with  an  air  of  pouring  oil  on 
troubled  waters,  "  but  you  were  glad  when  he  was  away, 
and  bored  when  he  was  at  home.  Surely  there  must  be 
something  better  in  life  than  that." 

But  Mrs.  Gilmour  had  been  so  greatly  upset  that  it 
was  some  little  while  before  Emily  could  restore  her  to  her 
usual  calmness.  "  He  was  a  little  exacting  at  times,"  she 
said,  still  heatedly,  to  Agnes,  "  but  you  may  be  quite  sure 
of  this.  I  could  not  do  without  him — and  I  don't  think 
he  could  have  done  without  me.  Emily,  you  are  not  to 
believe  there  is  the  slightest  true  foundation  for  your 
aunt's  odious  taunt." 


38  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  No,  mother,  that's  all  right,"  said  Emily.  "  I  don't 
think  Aunt  Agnes  always  understands  the  double-edged 
character  of  remarks  she  lets  fall." 

Aunt  Agnes  smiled  sweetly. 

"  Anyhow,"  she  said,  "  you  have  both  reassured  me. 
Claire  has  been  sacrificed  all  her  life  till  now.  She  mustn't 
be  sacrificed  in  this.  You  speak  of  my  lack  of  under- 
standing, EmUy,  and  I  am  sorry  if  I  am  dense.  But  at 
any  rate,  I  am  not  so  stupid  as  to  fail  to  appreciate 
Claire.  She  really  mustn't  be  sacrificed.  It  would  be  too 
absurd — with  that  perfect  nature  of  hers.  And  she's  so 
pretty." 

Involuntarily  Emily  sneered.  "  Yes,"  she  said  patron- 
izingly.   "  I  suppose  she  is — in  her  way." 

"  Yes,  dear  Emily,  we  know  her  way  isn't  your  way. 
But  beauty  isn't  necessarily  measured  by  weight  or  size. 
The  other  day  a  young  man  was  raving  to  me  about  her." 

"  What  young  man  ?  " 

"  A  very  nice  well-bred  young  man — Mr.  Everett." 

"  Oh,  that  priggish  person.  Foreign  Office  clerk,  isn't 
he?  He  has  the  regular  Foreign  Office  manner.  Leonard 
says  they  get  it  the  day  after  they're  appointed." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  we  can't  all  be  solicitors,  you  know." 

Aunt  Agnes  left  them  both  in  a  ruffled  condition,  and 
hurried  upstairs  for  a  moment's  talk  with  Claire.  She 
said  that  lately  she  had  not  seen  as  much  of  Claire  as  she 
wished,  and  suggested  that  they  should  spend  to-morrow 
afternoon  together. 

Claire  regretted  that  to-morrow  would  be  impossible,  be- 
cause she  had  arranged  to  pay  a  visit  to  Nurse  Mitchell, 
and  she  did  not  like  to  disappoint  the  poor  old  soul. 

"  Then  I  must  wait,"  said  Miss  Graham.  "  But  don't 
go  on  neglecting  me.     Now  I  will  run  away." 

Nurse  Mitchell  having  done  such  protracted  work  in 
the  Gilmour's  nursery  was  now  a  pensioner  of  the  house. 
She  lived  at  Richmond;  and  as  Claire  was  the  only  mem- 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  39 

bi  r  of  the  family  who  ever  went  near  her,  she  had  come 
a  most  to  adore  Claire,  quite  forgetting  her  own  unkind- 
11  ss  in  the  past,  and  believing  that,  as  she  said,  Claire  had 
f  a  ways  been  her  prime  favourite.  Claire,  incapable  of 
"  n  mrishing  resentment,  gave  herself  to  the  old  woman's 
fancies,  went  to  see  her  as  frequently  as  possible;  and 
})  'ought  on  these  visits  baskets  of  grocery,  a  bottle  of  wine, 
a  cake,  which  she  purchased  at  shops,  and  so  saved  all 
b  'ouble  to  Mrs.  Hackett,  Belton,  or  the  cook. 

Thus  ^provisioned,  then,  with  Pope  in  attendance,  she^ 
vent  on  the  following  afternoon  to  Sloane  Street  station, 
)  nd  almost  the  first  person  that  she  saw  when  she  reached 
he  platform  was  Mr.  Roderick  Vaughan. 

^'  I'm  off  to  Richmond,"  said  Roddy,  smiling.  "  Where 
£,re  you  going?  " 

'*  I  am  going  to  Richmond,  too,"  said  Claire.  "  How 
funny  meeting  you." 

"  How  lucky,"  said  Roddy. 

And  Pope  looked  as  if  it  was  all  pure  fun  and  luck, 
entirely  unassisted  by  her. 

At  Richmond,  Mr.  Vaughan  was  very  useful  carrying 
the  baskets,  getting  a  fly  to  take  them  half  way  up  the 
hill,  to  the  row  of  cottages  where  Nurse  Mitchell  lived,  and 
helping  them  out  when  they  arrived  at  her  door.  He  was 
so  nice  to  Mitchell  that  he  won  her  heart  at  once.  In 
audible  whispers  behind  his  back,  with  significant  nods  toe, 
she  pronounced  him  to  be  a  fine  handsome  gentleman, 
**  more  robust  and  solid-built  than  Master  Cyril ;  "  and 
to  his  face  she  related  how  Miss  Claire  had  always  been 
"  the  flower  of  the  flock,"  her  own  favourite,  and  "  able 
to  turn  Nana  round  her  little  finger." 

Having  polished  off  Nurse  Mitchell  in  this  satisfactory 
manner,  he  took  Claire  for  a  walk  up  the  other  half  of 
the  hill,  along  the  famous  terrace,  past  the  Star  and  Gar- 
ter Hotel,  and  into  the  park;  with  Pope  demurely 
following. 


40  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  What  a  lark- this  is,*'  he  said  gaily.  "  So  jolly  to  be 
out  of  stuffy  old  London,  if  only  for  an  hour." 

He  was  gay  and  light-hearted,  enjoying  everything; 
and  Claire  enjoyed  it  all,  too — the  view  of  the  river  as  it 
meandered  whitely  through  vague  fields  and  woods,  the 
deer  moving  under  leafless  trees,  dusk  falling  upon  the  grey 
valley,  lamplight  in  the  town,  tea  at  a  tea-shop,  the  crowd 
pouring  out  of  the  railway  station  when  they  got  back 
to  it  again. 

By  that  time  he  had  told  her  heaps  and  heaps  of  inter- 
esting things  about  his  bold  and  adventurous  life;  ex- 
periences during  the  South  African  war  when  he  was  serv- 
ing in  the  yeomanry,  wanderings  in  America,  a  wonderful 
trip  to  Peru  on  a  commercial  mission.  He  described  what 
he  had  seen  in  very  simple  words  and  yet  vividly ;  without 
any  vainglory,  although  he  could  not  deny  that  memories 
of  crossing  the  Andes  and  examining  the  stupendous  monu- 
m,ents  left  by  the  Incas,  rather  dwarfed  the  effect  of  Rich- 
mond Hill  and  the  Star  and  Garter  Hotel. 

"  Thank  you  so  much,"  said  Claire,  at  the  railway 
station.  "  I  have  enjoyed  it  immensely."  And  indeed 
it  was  the  happiest  afternoon  that  she  had  spent  for  years. 

"  I  shall  see  you  home,  of  course,"  said  Roddy. 

"  Oh,  no,  please  don't  trouble,"  said  Claire.  "  Let  us 
say  good-bye  here.  Because  I  am  sure  you  would  rather 
go  in  a  smoking-carriage." 

But,  as  Roddy  said,  he  could  smoke  at  any  time,  when 
he  was  all  alone,  with  nobody  to  talk  to ;  and  he  did  not 
intend  to  cut  short  a  minute  of  this  pleasant  treat.  He 
offered  suggestions,  in  fact,  that  they  should  prolong  it  by 
returning  to  London  via  Waterloo,  instead  of  taking  the 
direct  route  by  the  District  railway,  and  work  their  way 
roimd  to  Sloane  Street  from  a  distance.  Claire,  however, 
could  not  agree  to  these  suggestions. 

She  was  a  little  embarrassed,  too,  when  he  proposed  to 
her  before  they  parted  that  they  should  arrange  for  an- 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  41 

0  her  of  these  jolly  meetings  in  the  near  future.  He  said 
t  tat  if  she  would  let  him  know  at  what  time  and  place  she 
A  3uld  be  likely  to  be  on  any  day,  he  could  easily  get  there. 

1  or  instance,  if  she  was  out  shopping,  either  in  the  morn- 
g  or  afternoon,  and  had  an  hour  or  so  to  spare,  they 

:  mid  slip  off  together  for  a  stroll  in  Regent's  Park,  or  go 
t  >  the  British  Museum,  or  the  Westminster  Cathedral, 
c  r  any  unfrequented  spot  where  they  would  not  be  likely  to 
r  urn  into  friends  or  acquaintances. 

"  No,  I  couldn't  do  that,"  said  Claire.  "  It's  very  kind 
c  f  you,  but  I  know  how  busy  you  are.  It  wouldn't  be  right 
td  let  you  waste  your  time." 

"  You  know,  surely,  that  I  shouldn't  consider  it  wasted.'* 

"  We  shall  meet  at  home,  of  course,"  said  Claire ;  and 
he  did  not  urge  her  any  further. 

Nevertheless,  although  she  would  not  as  yet  make  ap- 
pointments with  him  outside  the  home  circle,  they  met 
several  times  by  accident.  Chance  seemed  to  be  strangely 
propitious  to  him  in  the  weeks  that  followed,  and  she  and 
Pope  came  upon  him  in  the  most  unlikely  places.  For  a 
busy  man,  doing  work  connected  with  the  Stock  Exchange, 
he  was  much  in  the  West  End  by  daylight. 

April  had  come  now,  more  cold  and  blustery  this  year 
than  the  month  of  March,  an  east  wind  sweeping  the  skies 
at  dusk  as  if  with  a  fiery  red  broom  that  left  its  mark  from 
the  horizon  to  the  zenith.  In  Hyde  Park,  everything  was 
turning  grey  and  indistinct  as  night  approached;  one 
heard  carriages  that  one  could  not  see;  lamps  began  to 
show  on  the  bridge  across  the  Serpentine.  There  were  still 
a  few  promenaders  on  the  paths  by  the  water;  and  along 
one  of  these  paths  Claire  and  Mr.  Vaughan  walked  side 
by  side,  with  the  faithful  Pope  following  at  a  respectful 
distance.  To-day  Claire  had  told  him  that  he  could  meet 
her  here.  She  had  been  to  tea  with  Mrs.  Drysdale  in 
Cleveland  Square  and  was  on  her  way  home. 


42  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

**  But  I  do  trust  you,  Roddy.  Why  do  you  say  that  so 
often?  " 

"Because  I  love  you  so  much,  Claire." 

*' Really  and  truly?" 

**  I  can't  live  without  you." 

As  they  strolled  on  they  talked  of  their  first  meeting,  of 
their  incipient  friendship,  and  of  the  marvellous  rapidity 
with  which  it  had  ripened. 

"  But,  Claire,  you  must  never  call  it  a  friendship  again, 
after  to-day." 

Then  she  told  him  of  the  very  wonderful  circumstances 
in  connection  with  the  fortune-telling  performed  by  a 
friend  of  her  sister.  "  You  know,  Roddy,  I'm  not  like 
Emily.  I  honestly  don't  believe  in  fortunes  by  cards,  or 
by  anything  else.  I  simply  can't.  And  I  don't  truly  think 
one  ought  to.  But  this  is  exactly  what  happened."  And 
she  described  how  their  friend  had  instructed  her  to  wish 
and  not  tell  her  wish  to  anybody.  "  Roddy,  I  was  feeling 
so  lonely  and  unhappy — without  any  cause,  you  know,  be- 
cause I  had  nothing  to  complain  of.  But  I  couldn't  help 
it.  And  I  wished  that  some  one  would  be  fond  of  me,  and 
want  me  for  my  very  self.  Roddy,  has  my  wish  really 
come  true?  " 

"Want  you?     I  tell  you  I  can't  go  on  living  without 

you." 

"  Then  I  shan't  have  spoilt  the  wish  by  telling  it,"  and 
Claire  laughed  contentedly.  "  She  said  I  wasn't  to  tell  it 
— and  I  haven't,  except  to  you.  Do  you  remember,  at 
dinner  that  night  you  said  you  were  shy?  But, 
Roddy,  you'd  never  be  able  to  guess  how  shy  I  felt. 
And  then  directly  I  seemed  to  feel  that  you  were 
different." 

"  So  I  am.  So  I  will  be  always.  But  never  so  different 
as  you.  Claire,  there's  nobody  in  all  the  wide  world  fit 
to  compare  with  you." 

"  What  nonsense !  "    And  Claire  laughed  again,  softly 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  43 

i\  id  happily.  "  You  mustn't  say  things  hke  that  to  me, 
^^  ou  must  save  them  for  Emily." 

He  slipped  his  arm  through  hers,  and  pressed  close 
a  gainst  her  as  they  walked  on. 

"  Now,  Claire,  my  own  dearest  Claire,  we  may  have  a 
',  t  of  a  battle  to  fight,  and  you  must  swear  that  you'll 
.  ick  to  me  through  thick  and  thin." 

"  Through  thick  and  thin.     I  swear  it,  Roddy." 

"  Your  people  may  make  objections.  They're  pretty 
are  to." 

"Why  should  they?" 

"  They'll  probably  say  I'm  too  old  for  you." 

"  Roddy,  they  simply  can't  say  that,'' 

**  They'll  say  I  haven't  enough  money." 

"  Well,  I  have  a  little  money  of  my  own,  I  believe.  So 
ihat  won't  matter  either." 

"  You  darling  girl  !  But  take  it  from  me  there's  sure 
to  be  opposition.  We'll  surmount  it  all  right.  Only 
you've  got  to  be  brave,  for  my  sake.  They  can't  separate 
us  if  y(5u  stand  firm." 

"  I'll  do  anything  you  tell  me,  Roddy." 

Then  he  went  on  very  earnestly,  and  made  her  repeat 
her  vow  to  be  true  to  him. 

"  In  less  than  a  year  you'll  be  your  own  mistress,  but  of 
course  they  still  pretend  to  some  sort  of  power  over  you. 
If  it  came  to  a  real  row,  we  could  just  run  off  together. 
No  power  on  earth  could  prevent  us  doing  it.  You  see 
that,  don't  you,  Claire?  But  naturally  I  want  to  treat 
your  mother  with  deference  and  courtesy.  But  there  it  is, 
you  have  only  to  walk  out  of  the  front  door  and  we  can 
be  married  anywhere.  All  the  relations  in  the  world  can't 
undo  a  marriage." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  Roddy,  I  must  go  home  now.  It's 
getting  late." 

"  All  right.  But  don't  forget  what  I  have  told  you, 
and  that  you  have  solemnly  promised  yourself  to  me.    Re- 


44  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

member,  too,  that  I  am  always  there,  close  at  hand,  no 
further  away  than  New  Bond  Street.  If  there  is  a  real 
crisis — if  they  bully  you — above  all,  if  you  find  out  that 
they  are  plotting  to  take  you  right  away  where  I  couldn't 
get  at  you — ^why,  then,  just  walk  straight  out  of  the  house 
and  come  to  me.*' 

Then  he  wanted  to  kiss  her;  but  she  said  it  was  im- 
possible in  this  public  place. 

"  You'd  let  me  do  it  otherwise.'' '' 

"  Of  course.'' 

He  looked  about  him,  and  after  a  moment  or  two  led 
her  close  to  one  of  the  big  elm  trees. 

**  No  one  can  see  us  here.  Claire,  I  must.  Look  for 
yourself.  You  can't  see  what  those  people  over  there  are 
doing." 

He  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  putting  his  left  arm  round 
her  waist  he  drew  her  to  him. 

It  was  a  hasty,  evanescent  embrace,  and  she  kissed  him 
just  as  she  would  have  kissed  her  mother,  as  a  child 
kisses;  putting  her  cheek  against  his,  and  in  her  hurry 
kissing  only  the  air. 

But  to  him  it  was  glorious,  a  delicate  foretaste  of  the 
rapture  that  was  coming  to  him.  After  parting  from  her 
presently,  he  walked  eastward  with  triumphant  footsteps, 
feeling  larger,  stronger,  and  more  important  than  he  had 
ever  felt  in  his  life^  thinking  that  the  chequered,  up-and- 
down  history  of  his  existence  was  culminating  in  a  splen- 
dour as  prodigious  as  could  be  found  in  any  last  chapter 
of  a  fairy  tale. 

Before  going  home  Claire  looked  in  upon  her  Aunt 
Agnes  at  Hans  Place,  and  they  sat  for  a  little  while  by 
the  cheerful,  crackling  wood  fire  in  one  of  the  pretty  little 
rooms  that  were  always  so  pleasant  and  restful.  Claire's 
large  eyes  wandered  round  the  room,  glancing  at  the 
chintz  curtains,  the  lattice  fronts  of  low  bookcases  through 
which  the  lovely  readable  books  showed  varied  but  gentle 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  45 

C(  lours,  the  row  of  framed  miniatures,  the  palely-tinted 
ci  gravings,  the  blue  and  white  china  in  a  comer  cupboard; 
a  id  she  smiled  introspectively.  She  was  thinking  that  if 
t,]  e  e^er  had  a  home  of  her  own,  she  would  wish  it  to  be 
i  rnished  in  this  simple  style,  with  such  modest,  ordinary 
i  lings  as  these,  and  not  with  the  heterogeneous  grandeurs 
o  ■  her  mother's  mansion. 

"  Claire,"  said  Miss  Graham,  watching  her  face,  "  what 
Ii  as  happened  to  you  ?  You  are  full  of  new  thoughts  this 
e  irening.'' 

"  Am  I,  Aunt  Agnes  ?  Are  you  a  thought-reader, 
too?  "  And  Claire  laughed  and  took  Miss  Graham's  hand 
Slid  squeezed  it.  "  Yes,  I  have  some  good  news  that  I 
\^anted  to  tell  you — as  the  very  first  person  to  hear  about 
it.'' 

And  she  told  her  aunt  how  there  was  now  a  man  that 
vshe  was  fond  of. 

"Who?" 

"  A  friend  of  Cyril's— Roddy  Vaughan.*' 

"  And  you  rea,lly  like  him  very  much?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  really,  Aunt  Agnes.  From  the  very  begin- 
ning I  liked  him  a  thousand  times  better  than  Sir  Kenelm." 

"  But,  you  angel,  you  mustn't  talk  as  if  there  were  only 
two  men  in  the  world  and  your  choice  lay  only  between 
those  two." 

Seriously,  even  anxiously,  she  asked  piaire  a  lot  of  ques- 
tions, kissing  and  caressing  her  the  while  with  great  love 
and  tenderness. 

"  It  was  sweet  of  you  to  come  and  tell  me,  Claire.  And 
when  are  other  people  to  know  of  it  ?  " 

"  He  is  going  to  tell  mother  to-morrow — or  next  day  at 
latest.** 


CHAPTER  IV 

RODERICK  VAUGHAN  had  been  at  a  good  second- 
class  public  school ;  he  belonged  to  a  really  good 
second-class  club;  and  he  was  generally  popular 
with  the  best  sort  of  second-class  people.  He  always 
dressed  exceedingly  well;  he  could  ride,  and  play  g^lf, 
billiards,  and  bridge,  losing  or  winning  like  a  gentleman ; 
he  went  racing  occasionally  in  a  sportsmanlike  genteel 
way ;  although  not  a  member  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  he 
was  known  to  be  connected  with  a  firm  of  stockbrokers; 
and  really  that  was  about  all  that  his  friends,  who  were 
never  of  the  closest  kind,  did  know  about  him. 

Sometimes  one  of  them  would  ask  another,  "  Who  the 
devil  is  Roddy  Vaughan?  " 

To  which  the  other  would  probably  reply ;  "  Ask  me 
something  easier,'*  or  "  I  give  it  up,"  or  "  I'm  not  good  at 
riddles." 

"  But  he  has  expectations,  hasn't  he?  " 

*^  Oh,  yes,  now  you  remind  me,  I'  have  heard  him  gas 
about  his  expectations.  Coming  into  a  baronetcy  and  a 
pot  of  money,  according  to  his  tale,  one  of  these  fine  days." 

Roddy's  expectations  were  truly  of  a  vague  character. 
The  person  upon  whom  he  based  them  was  his  great  uncle. 
Sir  Roderick  Norton,  an  eccentric  old  fellow  in  Yorkshire, 
upon  whoiA,  much  to  his  own  annoyance,  a  baronetcy  had 
been  conferred  more  .than  forty  years  ago  because  of  his 
wealth  as  a  landowner.  Sir  Roderick's  elder  sister  had 
been  for  ever  banished  from  her  family  for  very  improper- 
ly marrying  a  groom  on  the  estate,  and  the  sole  issue  of 
the  marriage,  a  daughter,  was  Roddy's  mother.  She,  doing, 
a  little  better  than  her  banished  parent,  had  married  a 
livery  stable-keeper  in  a  southern  town,  who  after  pros- 

46 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  4T 

]^  jring  for  a  little  while  fell  upon  evil  days  and  presently 
d  ed.  Their  only  child,  Roddy,  would  have  fared  badly  at 
i\  :*st  but  for  the  assistance  of  tradesmen  relatives ;  and 
t  len  the  great  uncle  came  to  the  rescue,  providing  money 
)r  the  boy's  education  and  maintenance  to  the  age  of 
.  ^enty-one.  But  Sir  Roderick  desired  that  it  should  be 
clearly  understood  no  further  aid  would  ever  be  granted, 
g  nd  Roddy's  mother  subscribed  one  of  those  odious  letters 
that  are  concocted  by  family  lawyers  on  such  occasions 
rnd  administered  to  poor  relations  like  an  unexpected  cup 
c  f  poison  just  when  they  are  beginning  to  feel  hopeful  and 
happy — a  letter  saying  that  she  quite  understood  how  Sir 
jloderick  was  acting  out  of  charity,  compassion,  bene- 
iiceaice,  and  not  at  all  because  he  recognized  or  admitted 
or  coimtenanced  any  duty  derivable  from  consanguinity, 
and  how  she  was  never  to  molest  or  suffer  to  be  molested 
:heir  benefactor  with  an  attempt  or  pretence  to  establish 
uij  so  derived  claim  upon  his  purse,  leisure,  or  affection. 
Roddy  knew  all  about  this  letter,  but,  hating  the  mem- 
ory of  it,  he  usually  managed  to  forget  it.  He  certainly 
thought  it  was  time  it  should  be  forgotten  by  Sir  Roderick 
and  everybody  else.  The  passage  of  so  many  years  should 
heal  all  wounds.  The  old  gentleman,  still  unmarried  at 
his  very  advanced  age,  could  hardly  have  anyone  "  to  look 
to"  except  Roddy;  and  there  was  nobody  that  Roddy 
cared  to  look  to  except  him.  Mother,  grandmother,  all 
were  dead.  On  his  father's  side  of  the  house  he  had  only 
remaining,  as  prosperous  connections  worth  thinking 
about,  an  uncle  and  aunt  who  were  hotel  proprietors  at 
Hastings.  They  were  fond  of  Roddy;  and  when  younger 
he  had  spent  summer  holidays  as  a  welcome  guest  at  their 
hotel,  livening  the  office  with  his  gaiety,  paying  precocious 
attentions  to  the  chamber-maids,  wagering  shillings 
against  the  billiard-marker,  and  altogether  having  quite 
a  good  time.  Of  late  years  he  had  rather  neglected  these 
fckid  and  jovial  hosts.     On  attaining  his  majority  he  had 


48  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

written  to  Sir  Roderick  asking  if  he  would  care  to  continue 
the  allowance;  several  times  since  he  had  written,  asking 
if  Sir  Roderick  would  care  to  see  him;  and  to  all  these 
inquiries  Sir  Roderick  had  caused  a  reply  to  be  sent  say- 
ing, "  Certainly  not."  But  Roddy  felt  that  at  any  rate 
such  communications,  though  sterile,  kept  him  in  touch 
with  the  head  of  the  family;  any  day  the  old  boy  might 
have  a  fancy  to  close  the  breach;  so  Roddy  continued  to 
talk  of  his  expectations,  and  being  of  a  sanguine  temper- 
ament perhaps  believed  half  the  things  he  said  about  them. 

Perhaps,  too,  his  dreams  of  future  grandeur  had  pre- 
vented him  from  learning  any  particular  trade  or  settling 
down  in  a  regular  profession.  "  Pro  tern.''  was  a  favourite 
expression  of  his;  all  that  he  did  wos  pro  tern. — selling 
wine  on  commission,  canvassing  for  newspaper  advertise- 
ments, going  to  North  and  then  to  South  America  as  a 
commercial  traveller,  getting  mixed  up  with  shabby  little 
financial  enterprises,  drawing  directors'  fees  from  small 
moribund  companies — in  a  word,  living  by  his  wits — ^but 
only  pro  tcTn.  The  most  creditable  episode  in  his  adven- 
tures had  been  his  African  war  service.  Enlisting  as  a 
trooper  in  the  yeomanry,  he  had  been  promoted  to  the 
rank  of  squadron  sergeant-major,  and  before  the  war 
finished  had  been  given  a  commission.  From  those  distant 
military  days  he  still  retained  a  good  carriage  of  the 
body,  a  swagger  that  to  expert  observers  was  a  nice  blend 
of  the  officer  and  the  N.C.O.,  a  capacity  for  roughing  it 
that  is  only  learned  on  active  service,  and  the  extreme  dis- 
taste for  doing  so  that  is  infallibly  acquired  at  the  same 
time. 

Now,  at  the  age  of  thirty-three,  he  was  in  more  com- 
fortable circumstances  than  he  had  hitherto  reached.  His 
half  conmiissions  and  directors'  fees  enabled  him  to  occupy 
lodgings  over  a  hatter's  shop  in  New  Bond  Street;  never 
had  he  dressed  so  splendidly  or  possessed  as  many  patent 
leather  boots,  white  waistcoats,  and  glossy  braided  morn- 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  49 

ing  coats ;  socially  he  felt  himself  to  be  at  the  top  of  his 
game;  but  he  knew  that  it  was  wise  to  consider  all  these 
comforts  and  amenities  as  things  to  be  enjoyed  jpro  tern. 
At  any  minute  the  bottom  of  his  affluence  might  fall  out 
again. 

He  was  habitually  successful  with  women,  up  to  a  point. 
He  understood  them  extraordinarily  well,  again  up  to  a 
point;  their  ways  of  thought,  their  love  of  mirth,  their 
emotional  concentration  in  the  passing  moment;  and  of 
all  his  appetites  his  appetite  for  love-making  was  the 
strongest  and  most  insatiable.  He  never  felt  that  enough 
was  as  good  as  a  feast.  When  visiting  a  lady  who  had 
entranced  him  he  would  kiss  the  maidservant  while  the  lady 
was  out  of  the  room.  As  soon  as  he  had  kissed  a  fair  girl 
he  was  hungry  to  kiss  a  brown  one.  The  substantialness 
of  a  big  buxom  wench  in  his  arms  gave  him  a  massive  joy 
after  cuddling  what  is  termed  a  threadpaper ;  but  at  the 
same  moment  he  tasted  in  imagination  the  great  pleasure 
he  might  experience  from  caresses  vdth  a  middle-weight  or 
medium-sized  fairy.  Sometimes  he  sank  rather  low  in 
these  unceasing  heart  affairs,  taking  his  patent  leather 
shoes  and  shining  silk  topper  into  very  humble  surround- 
ings and  very  queer  company;  but  on  the  whole  he  pre- 
ferred or  was  more  moved  by  reiSned,  well-bred  women. 
Something  intrinsically  common  in  his  nature  made  him 
feel  the  sharp  zest  of  conquest  with  the  finer  kind. 

Thus  it  was  not  strange  that  he  should  be  immensely 
captivated  by  Claire  Gilmour,  and  feel  now  in  his  ecstasy 
of  triumph  that  he  had  never  really  been  in  love  before. 

He  had  been  taken  with  her  at  first  sight.  She  seemed 
to  represent  all  the  things  that  he  had  always  craved  for 
and  always  been  shut  out  of  by  unjust  fate — gracefulness, 
delicate  nurture,  elegance  of  thought  and  manner;  the 
prettiness  that  one  associates  with  hothouse  flowers;  the 
sense  of  security  and  inaccessibility  that  belong  to  care- 
fully-guarded and  strictly-forbidden  fruit.     He  was  much 


S$  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

impressed  by  the  house  in  which  he  saw  her,  its  air  of 
opulence,  its  lavish  decorations,  its  velvet  hangings  and 
parquetry  floors,  its  store  of  cut  glass  and  silver,  and  even 
gold.  Nothing  in  these  splendours  jarred  upon  his  eye 
or  offended  his  judgment;  and  before  two  minutes  had 
passed,  as  he  sat  by  her  side  at  the  glittering  board,  he 
had  thought  what  a  prodigious  coup  it  would  be  to  win  the 
daughter  of  such  a  house,  to  establish  oneself  in  the  family 
group,  and  be  classed  henceforth  as  one  of  these  well-to-do, 
eminently  respectable  people.  It  would  be  a  soft  thing  for 
the  rest  of  one's  life;  nothing  could  ever  let  one  down 
again. 

Then  before  the  evening  was  over,  and  more  and  more 
CTery  time  that  he  saw  her  afterwards,  the  charm  of  the 
girl  herself  penetrated  and  subjugated  him.  The  way  she 
held  her  head,  her  sharp  chin,  the  flicker  of  colour  under 
her  white,  transparent  skin ;  little  tricks  of  manner,  sweet 
little  tones  of  voice,  gracious  little  words  that  fell  from 
her  lips  as  perfume  comes  from  the  moving  petals  of 
flowers,  obviously  quite  naturally — everything  to  do  with 
her  lured  and  excited  him.  Before  going  to  sleep  he  used 
to  lie  in  bed  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  big,  strong 
neck,  throbbing  with  recollections  of  her;  and  if  he  did 
not  dream  about  her  when  he  fell  asleep  it  was  only  be- 
cause he  never  dreamed  at  all.  He  thought  of  her  directly 
he  woke  in  the  morning.  He  astounded  himself  by  the 
lofty  thoughts  that  she  had  aroused  in  him.  "  What  does 
money  and  all  the  rest  of  it  matter?  "  he  found  himself 
saying.  "  Only  love  counts.  I'd  marry  her  to-morrow  if 
I  could,  though  she  hadn't  a  single  penny  to  her  name." 

He  courted  her  diffidently,  scarcely  daring  to  hope,  and 
afraid  of  venturing  on  the  rough  and  ready  methods  that 
had  served  him  in  the  past.  Then  when  he  seemed  to 
recognize  by  infallible  signs  that  he  was  making  real  head- 
way, his  desire  and  delight  were  unbounded,  and  he  began 
**  to  brisk  things  along  a  bit." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  51 

But  what  was  it  that  Claire  the  refined,  the  day-dream- 
i  igy  the  book-loving,  could  find  in  him  to  attract  her? 
I  [e  asked  himself  this  question,  and  shrewdly  answered  it 
»  ith  something  not  very  far  from  the  truth.  She  liked  his 
I  ebonair  attitude  to  life,  his  brave  if  childish  philosophy, 
i  is  gaiety  and  laughter,  and  above  all  his  air  of  comrade- 
:  hip  and  unfailing  good  temper.  In  all  their  intercourse 
le  accentuated  these  characteristics,  and  was  careful  not 
o  attempt  thoughts  and  fancies  that  he  knew  were  far 
)eyond  him. 

Well,  he  was  sure  of  her  now.  That  slight,  fluttered  kiss 
^as  still  making  his  blood  circulate  rapidly ;  her  voice,  as 
3he  echoed  his  words,  still  thrilled  in  his  ears.  "  Throu^ 
thick  and  thin.  I  swear  it."  And,  strangely  with  the  re- 
lief that  came  in  the  assurance  of  ultimate  possession  of 
his  beloved  one,  there  returned  to  him  old  notions  as  to 
the  value  of  money.  He  did  not  feel  that  he  was  becoming 
mercenary  again;  but  the  fact  of  the  solid  cash  seemed 
now  to  heighten  the  romance  of  the  whole  affair,  to  give  t© 
it  that  touch  of  glamour  which  one  looks  for  in  the  beet 
kind  of  love  stories.  It  was  still  the  girl  he  desired,  and 
yet  the  material  benefits  that  she  might  carry  with  her 
were  certainly  not  any  longer  to  be  despised.  They  were 
the  trappings  of  his  victory. 

He  did  now  what  he  felt  that  a  vulgar,  thick-skinned, 
avaricious  person  in  his  situation  would  have  done  some 
time  ago.  He  dropped  in  at  Somerset  House  and  studied 
the  provisions  of  the  will  of  the  late  John  Richard  Merlkig 
Gilmour.  He  wanted  to  know  just  how  he  stood  before 
getting  to  work  with  the  old  lady. 

Claire  and  the  other  daughters,  it  appeared,  were  to  be 
given  such  a  capital  fund  as  would  yield  three  thousand 
five  hundred  a  year  on  their  marriage  if  marrying  witk 
the  consent  and  approval  of  their  mother,  and  in  any  event 
on  reaching  the  age  of  twenty-five  years.  So  much  was 
clear ;  but  it  was  not  so  clear  to  Roddy  whether  the  capitcd 


52  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

was  to  be  given  out  and  out,  or  whether  there  was  to  be  "rot 
about  trustees,''  and  so  on.  The  wording  of  the  clause 
was  infernally  complicated,  and  Roddy,  thinking  he  would 
like  to  chew  over  it  at  leisure,  had  produced  his  pocket 
book  and  was  beginning  to  copy  the  clause  in  his  neat, 
business-like  writing  when  the  official  in  charge  warmly  re- 
proved him. 

"  You  ought  to  know  very  well,"  said  this  guardian, 
bursting  with  indignation,  "  that  you're  not  allowed  to 
do  that." 

"How  the  hell  should  I  know?  "  said  Roddy,  so  fierce- 
ly that  the  man  was  quite  taken  aback.  "  I'm  not  like 
you.     I  don't  live  here." 

"  Well,  you  know  now,  anyway,"  said  the  man  gnmib- 
lingly. 

And  Roddy  went  swaggering  out  of  the  building,  feel- 
ing as  light  as  air. 

He  had  found  out  all  that  was  essential.  Three  thou- 
sand five  hundred — a  most  satisfactory  income — more  than 
he  had  anticipated.  He  expanded  his  chest,  threw  back 
his  head,  and  spurned  the  pavement  with  boldly-swinging 
footsteps.  Delightful,  ambitious  thoughts  kept  him  com- 
pany as  he  swung  along  the  Strand. 

With  a  sweet-tempered,  highly-accomplished,  widely- 
admired  wife  like  that,  there  was  nothing  to  which  a  man 
might  not  aspire.  Success  would  be  easy,  failure  impos- 
sible. He  felt  as  if  in  winning  Claire  he  had  gone  half  way 
towards  conquering  the  universe. 


,  CHAPTER  V 

( ^^  OON  it  was  known  to  all  concerned,  and  to  large 
1^^  numbers  of  people  not  in  the  least  concerned,  that 
^■^  Mrs*  Gilmour  had  received  a  second  proposal  for  the 
liand  of  her  daughter,  that  she  did  not  approve  of  this 
i  uitor,  and  that  she  was  very  much  upset  about  it.  Beauti- 
jully  dressed  ladies  meeting  one  another  outside  shops  in 
Ijloane  Street  spared  a  minute  to  discuss  the  matter, 
among  other  astounding  facts  of  transient  interest. 

"  Emily  Joyce  says  they  are  going  to  stop  it  at  once. 
;8ut  what  I  wonder  is  why  they  have  let  it  go  on  as  long 
as  they  have.  They  sent  Leonard  Joyce  to  make  inquiries 
— ^through  detectives,  I  suppose —  and  it  appears  that  the 
man  is  a  sheer  adventurer.  But  the  girl  herself  seems 
!liypnotized  by  him.'* 

**  Hypnotized !     No,  really?  " 

*^  So  it  seems.  By  the  way,  did  I  tell  you  what  a  man 
belonging  to  the  Treasury  told  my  husband?  About  Mr, 
Billow,  the  rich  man,  you  know.  He  offered  the  Prime 
Minister  a  million  pounds  for  his  own  pocket  to  make 
him  a  peer,  and  the  Prime  Minister  took  the  money." 

"  No,  really?  " 

"  Yes,"  and  the  lady  tittered  and  nodded  her  head ; 
*'  but  wait  a  moment.  Without  saying  a  word  about  it 
to  anybody,  the  Prime  Minister  very  quietly  built  an  iron- 
clad with  the  money  and  gave  it  to  the  nation.  Mr.  Billow 
was  simply  furious,  going  for  him,  and  saying,  ^  What 
about  my  peerage?'  The  Prime  Minister  said,  'Well, 
what  about  your  peerage?'  just  echoing  the  words  and 
pretending  not  to  understand.  Wasn't  it  clever  of  him? 
Such  a  good  score." 

And  then  the  ladies  entered  their  shops  and  went  on 

58 


54  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

with  the  business  of  life,  thinking  no  more  just  then  either 
of  the  hypnotized  girl  or  the  leg-pulling  Premier. 

Perhaps  the  only  person  on  the  Gilmours'  visiting-list 
who  remained  in  ignorance  of  the  new  turn  of  events  now 
agitating  their  household  was  old  Sir  Kenelm  Grantley. 
One  afternoon  when  he  came  to  pay  his  respects,  armed 
with  a  pannier  of  large  Buckinghamshire  strawberries,  he 
was  almost  hustled  in  the  hall  by  a  young  man  who  was 
flouncing  out  of  the  house.  The  young  man  was  splendidly 
attired  but  red  in  the  face,  angry  of  aspect,  brusque  of 
manner.  He  scowled  ferociously,  tramped  past  danger- 
ously close  to  Sir  Kenelm's  gouty  toes,  banged  the  front 
door  before  the  footmen  could  shut  it  behind  him,  and  left 
the  old  gentleman  tottering  feebly  with  his  strawberries. 

"  Might  I  ask  who  was  your  friend?  "  said  Sir  Kenelm 
to  Emily  Joyce,  as  she  came  into  the  hall  also  flouncingly. 

"  Oh,  that,"  said  Emily  with  decision,  "  was  somebody 
you  aren't  likely  to  see  here  again." 

Sir  Kenelm  was  rather  pleased  to  hear  it.  But  he  be- 
came conscious  of  the  extreme  unrest  and  discomfort  in 
the  atmosphere.  Claire  passed  up  the  stairs  with  the 
rapidity  of  a  slim  ghost.  Mrs.  Gilmour,  opening  the 
doors,  began  to  wander  about  as  one  who  walks  in  her 
sleep.  Belton  the  butler  seemed  unable  to  make  up  his 
mind  what  to  do  in  regard  to  bringing  tea,  Emily  chatted 
and  laughed  with  the  visitor,  but  had  nervous  movements 
of  her  hands  and  sudden  jerks  of  the  head.  Sir  Kenelm, 
without  understanding  why,  felt  that  on  this  particular 
afternoon  he  had  become  distinctly  obtrusive,  and  he 
meekly  and  rather  sadly  withdrew. 

Of  a  truth  the  opposition  that  Roddy  met  with  was 
greater  than  he  had  anticipated,  and  it  appeared  to  be 
steadily  growing  in  volume.  The  whole  family  had  turned 
against  him.  No  one  had  a  good  word  to  say  for  him. 
He  had  begun  by  talking  very  big  about  his  expectations ; 
saying  that  although,  because  of  their  contingent  char- 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  56 


^  a  ter,  he  could  not  bring  them  into  settlement,  they  might 
I  f  irly  be  considered  as  a  set-ofF  against  Claire's  inherited 
-]:  )ssessions ;  pointing  out  that  he  was  the  normal  heir, 
<i  iking  them  to  whom  else  the  old  bachelor  should  leave 
]]  s  money,  and  assuring  them  that  it  would  be  easy  to 
i)  )tain  a  special  remainder  to  the  baronetcy,  so  that  the 
t  tie  might  pass  to  him  with  the  property.  He  was  long- 
ing, as  he  said,  to  take  Claire  to  Yorkshire  and  make  her 
\iown  to  his  uncle.  She  would  gain  the  old  fellow's 
;3od-will  before  you  could  look  round  or  say  Jack  Rob- 
ison. 

But  he  was  mortified  by  his  failure  to  produce  any 
sDftening  effect  upon  them  with  these  boasts.  They  made 
lim  angry  by  their  insufferable  airs  of  superiority. 
*They  treat  me,"  he  told  Claire,  "  as  if  I  was  somebody 
trying  to  rob  a  hen-roost." 

At  the  very  first,  when  he  startled  her  with  his  confident 
proposal,  Mrs.  Gilmour  had  felt  a  weak  temptation  to 
say  "  Yes,"  and  be  done  with  it.  If,  as  he  alleged,  Claire 
and  he  both  wished  to  be  married  why  not  let  them.'^  It 
would  be  another  road,  a  fresh  short  cut,  out  of  all  her 
difiiculties.  With  cessation  of  worry  showing  plainly  at 
the  end  of  the  new  vista,  she  paltered  and  delayed  at 
first,  asking  Mr.  Vaughan  to  give  her  time  and  promising 
to  think  about  it.  But  next  day  she  told  him,  and  Claire 
too,  that  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of  any  longer  by  any- 
body. 

It  was  Emily  who  had  said  so;  and  as  soon  as  Emily 
had  made  this  decided  pronouncement,  with  buring  heat, 
Mrs.  Gilmour  felt  strongly  that  Emily  was  quite  right 
and  that  it  was  really  her  own  decision.  However  tempt- 
ing under  certain  aspects,  it  would  not  do. 

Emily  was,  indeed,  warm  against  it.  "  This,"  she  cried, 
with  scorn  and  anger,  "  is  what  we  have  to  thank  Cyril 
far." 

Mrs.  Gilmour  naturally  defended  Cyril.    "  Cyril  merely 


66  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

made  the  introduction — nothing  more,  Emily.  No,  I 
blame  myself  for  letting  him  have  the  run  of  the  house. 
But  the  other  thing  drove  him  out  of  my  mind ;  and  you 
yourself  seem  to  have  forgotten  the  hint  you  gave  me  that 
first  night  he  dined  with  us." 

"  Yes,  because  he  began  at  once  to  throw  dust  in  people's 
eyes.     He  has  behaved  outrageously." 

Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of  Roddy's  obliging  attentions 
to  herself  when  she  spoke  of  his  dust-throwing  tricks. 
Robust  flattery  was  always  pleasant  to  her,  and  although 
far  too  matter-of-fact  ever  to  be  led  into  the  dalliance  or 
sentimentality  with  which  many  married  women  of  her 
acquaintance  freely  indulged  themselves,  it  may  have  been 
that  while  remaining  unconscious  of  the  origin  of  her  ireful 
emotion  she  resented  the  sudden  loss  of  the  cheery  person 
who  had  certainly  seemed  to  fall  captive  to  her  carelessly- 
exercised  attractions.  "  I  really  must  say  very  treacher- 
ous and  underhand,  since,  as  now  comes  to  light,  he  was 
after  Claire  all  the  while." 

Curiously  enough,  Cyril  was  no  less  indignant  than 
Emily.  Notwithstanding  his  often  expressed  disgust  for 
old-fashioned  prejudices,  snobbish  nonsense,  and  so  on,  he 
betrayed  an  arrogant  displeasure  at  the  mere  idea  that 
any  member  of  his  family  should  marry  below  the  family 
level  as  judged  by  the  most  conventional  standards. 
Moreover,  he  seemed  to  feel  that  his  personal  dignity  had 
been  assailed. 

"  If  Vaughan  had  approached  me,"  said  Cyril,  "  as  was 
his  duty,  of  course,  I  might  possibly  have  taken  a  different 
standpoint.  At  any  rate,  I  should  have  thought  differ- 
ently about  him.  But  no,  without  a  single  word  to  me, 
he  has  the  consummate  impertinence  to  make  love  to  my 
sister.  It  was  /  who  admitted  him  to  the  house  in  the  first 
instance.     He  chooses  to  forget  that." 

"  Well,  we  don't  forget  it,  if  he  does,"  said  Emily,  witk 
bitterness. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  57 

"  In  the  absence  of  John,''  continued  Cyril,  ignoring  the 
iterruption,  "  /  am  the  head  of  the  family ;  and  it  is  my 
ntention  to  go  to  Mr.  Roddy  Vaughan  and  tell  him  so. 

shall  ask  him  to  explain  himself  to  Tne — and  in  all  proba- 
)ility  the  interview  will  end  by  my  punching  his  head  or 
;icking  him  downstairs." 

"  My  dearest  boy,"  cried  Mrs.  Gilmour,  "  for  goodness^ 
;ake  don't  do  that.  If  there  was  the  smallest  fracas  of 
:hat  sort  we  should  all  find  ourselves  in  the  newspapers 
lext  morning.  The  one  thing  I  am  anxious  to  avoid  is 
inything  like  talk  or  scandal.  Nobody  can  help  unless 
they  do  it  with  real  tact.  It  is  such  a  misfortune,"  she 
concluded  plaintively,  "  that  Derek  Harpington  should  be 
staying  down  at  Brighton  just  when  he  could  have  been 
so  useful  to  us." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  bring  that  old  ass  into  it  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Gilmour,  gently  chiding  Cyril  for  speaking  of 
him  so  disrespectfully,  said  that  of  course  she  had  written 
to  Uncle  Derek  for  his  advice.  Equally,  of  course,  she 
had  written  to  her  eldest  son  John.  Uncle  Derek  was 
recovering  from  influenza,  and  John  said  that  he  would 
probably  be  passing  through  London  in  two  or  three 
weeks'  time.  She  thought  that  John  might  and  perhaps 
ought  to  have  come  up  from  Liverpool  on  purpose,  and 
at  once.  "  But  you  know  what  John  is,"  she  added,  with 
a  gesture  so  vague  that  it  could  not  by  any  possibility 
have  assisted  in  making  her  meaning  clearer  to  anybody 
who  did  not  know  John  very  well  indeed. 

With  such  talk  the  days  dragged  themselves  slowly  by 
and  surprised  one  by  becoming  at  last  weeks.  Never  had 
the  house  been  quite  so  uncomfortable  as  now;  even  the 
servants  felt  the  worry  and  annoyance  that  custom  for- 
bade them  from  openly  sharing.  And  in  the  midst  of  it 
all  Claire,  nagged  at  by  Emily,  hectored  by  Cyril,  pricked 
now  and  then  with  sharp  words  even  by  her  mother,  ex- 
hibited as  well  as  patience  and  docility,  a  quite  unexpected 


58  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

stubbornness  of  purpose.  She  turned  her  large  eyes  from 
one  to  another  in  mute  appeal  as  she  listened  to  argu- 
ments or  reproaches,  seeming  perhaps  to  say,  if  one  might 
so  interpret  the  trembling  of  her  lips  as  she  looked  more 
especially  at  Cyril,  '^  Et  tu.  Brute;  "  but  she  uttered  no 
audible  protest.  When  compelled  to  speak,  she  said  very 
simply  that  she  could  not  renounce  Roddy  because  she 
had  given  her  word  to  him,  and  that  she  had  heard  noth- 
ing up  to  now  which  could  justify  her  in  breaking  it. 

"  Mother,  I  know  what  I  should  do  with  her,"  said 
Emily.  "  If  I  were  you,  I  should  send  her  back  to  the 
convent  and  keep  her  there  till  the  silliness  is  got  out  of 
her.     She  could  go  on  with  her  French  and  music." 

But  Mrs.  Gilmour  said  she  could  not  resort  to  such  a 
violent  measure,  at  least  unless  some  man  of  the  world 
like  Derek  Harpington  counselled  it. 

Emily  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  laughed  with  grating 
hardness.    - 

"  Something  will  have  to  be  done  if  it  is  to  be  stopped. 
At  present  it  is  going  on  as  if  we  were  so  many  dummies." 

"  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  say  that,  Emily." 

"  Mother,"  she  asked,  on  another  occasion,  "  have  you 
forbidden  him  the  house  or  have  you  not  ?  " 

"  Well  my  dear — no,  not  exactly." 

"  You  said  you  meant  to." 

"  I  know  I  did.  But  I  merely  hinted  that  I  thought  he 
had  better  keep  away.  And  for  this  reason,  Emily ;  as  I 
told  you,  I  was  anxious  to  get  Uncle  Derek's  advice  before 
taking  ant/  strong  step." 

"  Well,"  said  Emily.  "  He  ignores  your  hint.  He  was 
here  yesterday  afternoon." 

"No.?" 

"  Yes.  I've  just  found  it  out  from  Mrs.  Hackett.  He 
left  the  house  only  five  minutes  before  you  and  I  returned." 

"  Mother,"  said  Emily,  after  breakfast  one  morning. 
"  She  is  wearing  that  ring  he  gave  her,  and  you  said  she 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  59 

ivasn't  on  any  account  to  put  on  an  engagement  ring.  It 
is  effrontery.  Open  rebellion,  /  call  it.  Didn't  you  see 
the  ring  at  the  breakfast  table?  " 

"  I  did  not  look  her  way"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour.  "  Between 
yoii  and  me,  I  have  tried  to  avoid  any  further  passages 
between  Claire  and  myself,  until  my  hand  is  further 
strengthened." 

She  said  the  same  sort  of  thing  when  Emily  reported 
the  presence  of  Roddy  once  more. 

"He  has  been  here  again — while  we  were  driving.  I 
must  say  I  think  you  should  give  Belton  instructions  to 
keep  him  out.  Naturally  Belton  cannot  act  on  his  own 
initiative.'' 

Then  one  morning  Mrs.  Gilmour  came  downstairs  look- 
ing positively  radiant. 

"  I  have  heard  from  Uncle  Derek,"  and  she  flourished  a 
letter  before  Emily.  "  He  is  hack  from  Brighton,  and 
quite  well  again.  Writes  from  the  Travellers'.  As  al- 
ways, he  assures  me,  he  places  himself  unreservedly  at  our 
service.  I  never  knew  Derek  Harpington  fail  one.  So 
now,  my  dear,  we  can  all  put  our  heads  together  and 
quietly  settle  a  definite  course  of  action." 

Derek  was  not  really  an  uncle  of  theirs,  but  they  gave 
him  this  title  by  his  own  wish,  because  of  his  age  and  the 
affectionate  regard  in  which  he  held  them  all.  He  belonged 
to  that  noble  family  with  which  the  Gilmours  had  con- 
nected themselves  by  marriage,  and  whereas  they  had  per- 
haps been  rather  kept  at  arms'  length  by  the  remainder 
of  these  nobles,  they  had  been  adopted  by  dear  old  Derek 
as  close  and  valued  relations.  At  moments  of  excessive 
crisis  or  confusion  Mrs.  Gilmour  always  turned  to  him 
for  assistance  and  support;  and  the  late  Mr.  Gilmour 
used  to  say  of  him  that  he  was  "  a  gentleman  in  the  best 
sense  of  the  word  " — an  illogical  expression  which  seems 
to  convey  a  great  deal  to  one's  mind,  although  no  effort 
of  the  imagination  may  be  able  to  conjure  up  the  picture 


60  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

of  what  "  a  gentleman  in  the  worse  sense  of  the  word  " 
would  be  like. 

Derek,  in  fact,  was  both  kindly  and  unselfish,  if  not  sur- 
prisingly brilliant  of  intellect ;  fond  of  his  own  clan  to  the 
remotest  almost  uncountable  cousin,  amiably  inclined  to- 
wards large  crowds^of  human  beings  outside  the  clan,  will- 
ing to  take  trouble  on  behalf  of  the  merest  acquaintance. 
Everybody  liked  him;  everybody  respected  him.  At  club 
meetings  when  chairmen  suggested  that  before  doing  any- 
thing formal  they  should  approach  their  landlord  in  a 
spirit  of  fair  play  and  give-and-take,  getting  some  member 
of  tact,  experience,  and  recognized  position  to  represent 
them,  all  eyes  were  immediately  concentrated  on  Derek. 
And  without  hesitation  Derek  rose  in  his  place  and  said, 
with  a  modesty  quite  unaffected,  that  now  as  at  all  times 
he  was  unreservedly  at  the  service  of  the  club. 

He  was  now  nearly  seventy  years  of  age ;  but  if  you  had 
not  known  you  could  not  have  guessed  it. 

"  Well,  now?  ''  he  said  inquiringly,  when  Mrs.  Gilmour 
had  ushered  him  to  an  armchair  in  the  library,  which  was 
converted  for  this  afternoon  into  a  solemn  council  cham- 
ber. 

"  We  won't  be  at  home,''  she  had  instructed  Belton. 

"  Not  at  home  to  anybody''  Mrs.  Joyce  had  added. 
^' You  understand,  Belton?" 

Mr.  Joyce  had  suggested  that  the  debate  should  take 
place  in  the  dining-room,  where  they  could  all  sit  round 
the  big  table  with  Uncle  Derek  seated  as  president  at  the 
top  of  the  table;  but  he  had  been  over-ruled.  From  an 
unanalyzed  association  of  ideas  which  made  his  motions 
scarcely  more  than  reflexes,  he  had  prepared  pens,  ink, 
and  paper  for  everybody,  and  he  was  now  busying  him- 
self about  the  position  of  the  chairs,  until  sharply  re- 
proved by  Emily. 

"  Leonard,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  fuss.  It's  not  a 
board  meeting." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  61 

There  were  also  present  Cyril  from  the  Temple  and 
John  Gilmour  from  Liverpool,  luckily  passing  through 
London  just  at  the  right  moment.  No  summons  had  been 
sent  to  Aunt  Agnes ;  she  was  purposely  left  out.  Without 
any  voting  into  the  presidential  chair,  it  had  been  tacitly 
assumed  that  Uncle  Derek  would  take  command  of  the 
whole  sitting,  and  unostentatiously  he  did  so.  He  was 
employed  on  the  helpful  work  that  had  become  a  pleasure 
as  well  as  a  habit  of  his  life.  No  agenda  paper,  such 
as  Leonard  Joyce  would  probably  have  made  out  if  given 
free  scope,  was  really  needed.  The  business  before  the 
council  was  so  obvious ;  and  it  automatically  fell  into  two 
divisions  or  main  heads:  (a)  Analysis  of  the  annoyance 
commonl}'^  known  as  Roddy  Vaughan;  (6)  Question  what 
to  do  about  it.  This  was  understood  by  Derek  and  all 
the  others.  It  was  also  understood  that  at  a  certain  point 
of  the  proceedings  Claire  would  be  called  upon  to  present 
herself  before  the  council.  She  had  been  warned  to  hold 
herself  in  readiness;  and  as  members  of  the  council  took 
their  seats  to  right  and  left  of  the  presidential  armchair 
they  instinctively  placed  themselves  facing  the  door  of  the 
morning-room,  the  door  through  which  Claire  would  prob- 
ably enter. 

"  See  if  she's  there  now,"  said  Emily.  "  We  don't  want 
her  to  hear  what  we're  saying.  She  wouldn't  listen,  of 
course,  but  she  might  overhear  some  of  our  words  without 
being  able  to  prevent  herself." 

"  That  would  be  a  pity,"  said  Derek ;  "  for  I  take  it 
that  among  ourselves  we  are  going  to  speak  quite  frankly."* 

"  Quite." 

"  But  I  suggest,"  said  Derek,  suavely  and  benignly,, 
"  that  when  Claire  joins  us  we  should  be  very  careful  in 
any  thing  we  say  before  her  concerning  Mr.  Vaughan. 
Words  that  wound  and  that  one  may  so  bitterly  regret 
afterwards  sometimes  pop  out  if  one  isn't  on  one's  guard."' 

Leonard  Joyce  had  crossed  the  council  chamber  on  tip- 


62  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

toe.  He  opening  the  moming-roora  door,  peered  through 
it  uiysteriouslj,  and  closed  it  again. 

"  Not  there,"  he  said  in  a  portentous  whisper,  as  he 
returned  to  his  seat.     "  Room  empty." 

**  Very  well,  then !  "  said  Derek ;  and  there  was  a  pause. 

**You  were  saying?"  said  John  Gilmour,  and  he 
scratched  his  stubbly  beard  and  looked  at  his  watch.  Bald, 
rather  short,  alert  and  businesslike,  he  seemed  very  differ- 
ent from  the  rest  of  the  family. 

"  I  have  carefully  gone  through  all  the  notes  and  in- 
formation with  which  you  have  favoured  me,"  said  Uncle 
Derek,  at  last  opening  the  proceedings.  "  I  think  I  have 
mastered  them,"  and  he  smiled.  "  I  have  supplemented 
them  by  ascertaining  a  few  facts  on  my  own  account.  I 
don't  want  to  express  any  opinion.  It  would  not  be  be- 
coming if  I  did  so.  Nevertheless  it  may  be  that  I  have 
formed  an  opinion." 

"  I  expect,"  said  Cyril,  with  a  snort,  "  your  opinion  is 
precious  like  anybody  else's.  The  fellow  is  an  impudent 
bounder." 

And  Emily  chimed  in,  making  use  several  times  of  that 
ugly  word  adventurer. 

"  Don't  interrupt  Uncle  Derek,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Derek,  "  /  don't  want  to  do  all  the 
talking.  I  am  merely  here  to  help — that  is,  to  bring  out 
your  views,  and  perhaps  be  of  some  small  aid  in  collating 
them  so  £hat  you  can  yourselves  form  a  judgment  on 
them.  Suppose  as  a  beginning  you  each  in  turn  tell  me 
all  you  know  about  him — all  you  think,  and  all  you  feel." 

Mrs.  Gilmour,  Emily,  and  Cyril  started  talking  together. 

"  No,  please.  One  at  a  time,"  and  Derek  bowed  to  Mrsr 
Gilmour.     "  Will  you  begin  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Gilmour,  so  voluble  the  instant  before,  fell 
silent.  It  seemed  that  the  thread  of  her  string  of  words 
had  been  snapped  in  the  chorus  of  voices  or  her  mind 
had  suddenly  wandered.     She  sat  staring  at  the  president 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  63 

sedly,   gloomily,   for   a   few   moments.      Then   her   face 
I  rightened,  and  she  spoke  with  impressive  force. 

"  Derek,  I  do  not  like  him,  I  have  thought  it  all  out — 
or  and  against.  I  can  assure  you  I  have  thought  of  little 
'  Ise  during  these  last  weeks — ^both  by  day  and  at  night 
oo.  And  it  is  all  summed  up  in  that.  I  don't  like  ham. 
'^or  can  I  see  how  any  one  can  pretend  that  he  is  good 
nough  for  Claire."  And  she  looked  round  almost  sternly, 
is  if  expecting  an  attempt  at  this  pretence  from  somebody 
)r  other. 

'  Then  Emily  and  her  husband  gave  their  opinions,  Mrs. 
Grilmour  presently  breaking  in  again,  so  that  the  discus- 
sion became  both  desultory  and  repetitive.  ^ 

"  We  come  back  to  where  we  started,"  said  Derek,  after 
a  considerable  time  had  been  thus  spent.  "  Evidently 
you  don't  like  him,  Emily,  any  better  than  your  mother. 
But,  after  all,  we  have  only  dealt  so  far  with  likes,  or 
rather  dislikes.  We  are  not  making  much  progress  as 
to  the  reasons  on  which  our  feelings  are  based.  That, 
perhaps,  is  scarcely  fair  to  him.  You  will  remember  I 
suggested  that  each  should  say  what  we  knom  about  him 
as  well  as  what  we  feel  about  liim." 

Then  Cyril,  questioned  by  Derek,  related  what  he  knew 
about  Roddy. 

"  Fellows  I  know  well  know  the  fellow,"  said  Cyril.  "  I'd 
known  him  by  sight,  and  to  nod  to,  -and  all  that-;  and  he 
makes  out  we  stayed  together  in  a  week-end  party  at  the 
Elephant  Hotel  at  Pangbourne.  But  I  can't  remember 
ever  exchanging  half  a  dozen  words  with  him,  until  he  did 
me  a  service." 

"What  service?" 

In  the  fewest  possible  words  Cyril  described  a  row  that 
had  occurred  at  a  restaurant.  "  The  lady  I  was  with — 
I  decline  to  give  her  name,  Leonard — quarrelled  with  a 
lady  at  another  table.  And  Vaughan  assisted  me  and 
made  himself  useful  in  smoothing  things  over." 


64  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Emily  laughed.  "  Then  all  we  know  of  liim  amounts  to 
this:  Cyril  made  his  acquaintance  during  a  tavern  brawl, 
and  at  once  asked  him  to  dinner  at  his  mother's  house." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Cyril  furiously.  "  Besides, 
you  just  go  about  calling  the  Paradise  Restaurant  a 
brawling  tavern  and  you'll  jolly  soon  land  yourself  in 
s.  thumping  libel  action,  clever  as  you  think  yourself." 

"  I  am  competent  to  advise  my  wife,"  said  Leonard 
Joyce,  "  as  to  any  risk  she  runs  in  expressing  her  opinion 
privately  or  publicl3^,  and  I'll  thank  you,  Cyril " 

"  Gently,  gently,"  said  Derek. 

"  My  dearest  boy,  don't  squabble,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour. 
**  Emily,  do  restrain  yourself." 

Their  recriminations,  however,  continued,  and  it  was 
necessary  for  the  president  to  call  them  to  order  several 
times  before  the  hubbub  abated.  "  We  are  getting  veuy 
wide  of  the  mark,"  he  said  suavely.  / 

"  Yes,"  said  John  Gilmour,  "  let  us  at  least  make  an 
-effort  to  keep  to  the  point." 

He  had  said  very  little,  but  he  looked  at  his  watch  a 
great  deal ;  and  just  now  Mrs.  Gilmour  had  implored  him 
not  to.  "  You  have  no  idea  how  enervating  it  is  to  see 
you  doing  it.  You  make  me  feel  as  if  were  in  the  waitings 
room  of  some  great  railway  junction  and  missing  all  our 
trains." 

The  president  looked  towards  him  now. 

"  By  the  way,  you  haven't  given  us  your  views,  John. 
What  do  you  think  about  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  John.     "  Never  seen  him." 

He  said  it  so  briskly  that  it  made  his  mother  jump. 

There  was  another  blank  pause,  and  then  somebody 
proposing  that  Claire  should  now  be  brought  before  them, 
all  agreed  that  the  moment  had  come,  and  Leonard  was 
sent  to  fetch  her.  He  went  into  the  morning-room,  and 
presently  could  be  heard  loudly  calling  her  name,  like  the 
usher  of  a  court.  Then  he  returned,  and  whispered  con- 
fidentially : 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  65 

**  She's  coming  downstairs.'' 

And  they  all  sat  looking  at  the  door  of  the  morning- 

)om. 

Then  they  all  started  and  moved  their  chairs  a  little, 
laire  had  come  in  through  the  other  door,  the  door  from 
le  hall,  and  was  standing  on  that  side  of  the  room  looking 
i  t  them. 

Old  Derek  got  up,  and  hurried  to  greet  her  and  lead 
er  forward.  He  kissed  her,  reminding  her  that  she  was 
ne  of  his  godchildren,  gave  her  a  little  pat  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  resumed  his  armchair. 

Leonard  Joyce  had  brought  a  straight-backed  chair 
from  the  wall,  and  he  carefully  placed  it  immediately  be- 
hind her. 

"  Thank  you,  Leonard ;  but  I  think  I'd  rather  stand." 

She  stood  tljere  facing  them,  seeming  when  compared 
V7ith  themselves  very  pale,  very  slight  and  frail  although 
so  tall,  and  almost  ridiculously  young  to  be  thus  arraigned 
or  caDed  upon  to  defend  her  cause  before  this  solid  worldly- 
minded  tribunal.    But  her  firmness  surprised  them. 

"  Now,  you  know,"  Uncle  Derek  was  saying,  "  I  never 
interfere.  Indeed  how  could  I?  My  motto  has  always 
been  Live  and  let  live.  I  merely  want  to  put  certain 
considerations  before  you." 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Derek." 

And  he  went  on  with  great  benignity  to  explain  that  a!l 
of  them  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  she  was  in 
danger  of  making  a  great  mistake.  At  considerable  length 
he  advised  her  to  abandon  the  idea  in  deference  to  the 
desires  of  her  nearest  and  dearest,  or  to  postpone  it  so 
indefinitely  as  to  achieve  the  same  end  as  would  be  gained 
by  abandonment.  He  assured  her  that  later  on  she  would 
thank  everybody  for  preventing  her  from  taking  a  rash 
step  and  that  she  would  then  recognize  her  existing  predi- 
lection as  really  no  more  than  a  passing  fancy. 

"  Well,  now?     What  do  you  say,  Claire?  " 

"  He  asked  me  to  marry  him,  and  I  wish  to  do  it." 


66  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  What  makes  you  so  sure?  "  asked  Derek,  in  the  kind- 
est tone. 

"  He  is  fond  of  me.    And  I  am  very  fond  of  him." 

"  But  do  you  love  him?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.     I  have  just  said  so." 

"  But  you  wouldn^t  do  anything  to  make  your  mother 
unhappy?" 

"  No,"  said  Claire,  "  I  wouldn't  do  that ;  "  and  there 
was  a  little  break  in  her  voice. 

"  If  we  tell  you  that  you're  not  to,"  said  Cyril,  "  you 
jolly  well  won't." 

Claire  turned  towards  him  at  once. 

"  Cyril,  kindly  answer  a  question.  Are  you  Roddy's 
friend  or  not?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not.  I  was  his  friend,  but  I  have  ceased  to 
be  so." 

"  Then  nothing  you  can  say  can  have  the  least  influence 
with  me ; "  and  she  turned  away  from  him,  never  looking 
at  him  again. 

Soon  they  told  her  she  could  withdraw,  and  she  left 
them  to  carry  on  the  debate. 

The  debate  was  continued,  but  it  became  more  and  more 
repetitive  in  character.  All  were  fully  agreed  that  the 
marriage  was  impossible  and  that  Mr.  Vaughan  must  be 
made  to  understand  this  at  once ;  the  only  doubt  was  as  to 
the  exact  method  of  conveying  the  verdict  to  him.  Clearly, 
Uncle  Derek  must  be  their  intermediary;  and  everybody 
except  John  Gilmour  offered  hints  as  to  how  he  should 
set  about  his  job.  There  was  a  lot  of  chorus-talk,  and  time 
passed  slowly  but  surely. 

"  Say  we  won't  stand  it,"  suggested  Cyril ;  "  and  that  if 
he  doesn't  want  his  head  punched  he'll*  give  it  up.  I'll  go 
with  you,  if  you  like,  Uncle  Derek." 

"  I  should  simply  tell  him,"  said  Leonard  Joyce,  "  that 
neither  by  birth  nor  fortune  is  he  a  suitable  husband  for 
Claire.    He  must  see  that  himself." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  67 

Mrs.  Gilmour  was  now  walking  about;  and  she  talked 
{  if  to  herself,  only  occasionally  addressing  members  of 
i    e  council  as  she  passed  them  in  her  walk. 

"  The  idea  mooted  by  Cyril  of  frightening  him  as  well 
i      forbidding  it  seems   to  me  to  have   something  in  its 

vour,  Derek.     But  if  so,  it  must  not  be  Cyril  to  under- 
ike  it.    He  is  the  last  person  for  such  a  task.     You  are 
>o  quick-tempered,  Cyril.    You  would  only  lose  your  tem- 
21'  and  bring  us  all  into  trouble  by  creating  a  scandal. 
'  evertheless,  that  people  can  be  frightened  in  cases  not 
3ry  dissimilar  to  this  I  know  as  a  fact,  Emily.     I  re- 
iiember  perfectly — though  it  is  over  twenty  years  ago — 
ow  your  father  frightened  a  man  who  was  paying  im- 
proper attentions  to  one  of  the  maids.     He  used  to  sta- 
tion himself  outside  the  house  hour  after  hour,  and  when 
the  girl  came  up  the  area  steps  he,  as  it  were,  pounced 
upon  her.    '  Oh,  indeed,'  said  your  father  when  the  annoy- 
ance was  reported  to  him.     '  Give  me  my  stick,  please.' 
It  was  the  stick  presented  to  him  as  a  souvenir  by  that 
Waterford    Steamship    Company    that    afterwards    went 
bankrupt.    I  dare  say  you  recollect  it,  John.    '  What  are 
you  loitering  here  for?  '  said  your  father,  twisting  the 
stick  as  he  approached  the  man,  and  looking  as  if  he  had 
had  enough  of  such  nonsense — I  mean,  really  incensed  and 
indignant.     You  know  how  your  father-in-law  could  look, 
Leonard.'' 

"  Tell  him,"  said  Emily,  "  that  if  he  thinks  he  will  get 
any  money  with  her  he  is  utterly  mistaken.  Not  one  penny 
till  she  is  twenty-five.  You  may  add  that  we  all  of  us 
know  he  is  a  shameless  adventurer." 

Then  John  Gilmour  intervened  in  the  debate. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  abruptly.  "  Are  you  sure  that 
you  won't  all  give  way  and  let  him  marry  Claire  in  the 
end.?" 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean.?  " 
^  *'  I  mean  what  I  say,  Emily.  If  there  is  any  chance  of 


68  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

your  caving  in  finally,  there's  no  sense  in  making  an  im- 
placable enemy  of  him  now.  You  want  to  choke  him  off. 
I  suggest  that  you  should  try  to  do  it  without  grossly 
insulting  him." 

Then  this  new  view  of  the  situation  was  discussed. 
Uncle  Derek  seemed  inclined  to  support  John's  sugges- 
tion. It  was  contrary  to  his  instinct  to  be  rude  to  people ; 
he  said  that  experience  had  proved  to  him  that  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten  moderation  was  advisable;  and  he  made 
a  classical  quotation:  "  In  medio  tutissimus  ibis." 

The  remainder  of  the  proceedings  seemed  to  be  strangely 
hurried.  It  was  getting  later  and  later,  and  the  council 
generally  were  tired.  Mrs.  Gilmour,  seated  again,  was 
yawning  woefully,  and  explaining  to  Emily  that  the  yawns 
by  no  means  indicated  waning  interest,  but  merely  the 
sinking  sensation  caused  by  the  loss  of  afternoon  tea. 
Emily  asked  if  Belton  had  been  given  any  orders  about 
tea;  and  Leonard  was  told  to  ring  the  bell. 

Meanwhile  Uncle  Derek  recited  what  he  now  understood 
to  be  his  final  instructions.  He  was  to  do  the  best  he  could 
to  "  stop  it  at  once."  He  was  to  do  it  with  the  greatest 
tact  compatible  with  absolute  firmness.  He  was  to  carry 
the  thing  through  as  only  he  could.  He  was  to  make 
Mr.  Vaughan  comprehend  that  it  really  would  not  do, 
and  yet  leave  Mr.  Vaughan  feeling  that  he  had  received 
a  compliment  rather  than  a  rebuff. 

"  And  now,  if  you  will  allow  me,"  said  John,  "  I  will  be 
going ;  "  and  he  looked  at  his  watch.    "  Where  is  mother  ?  " 

Mrs.  Gilmour,  with  Emily,  was  just  outside  the  door  of 
the  council  chamber  talking  to  Belton ;  telling  him  to  serve 
tea  in  the  dining-room  as  quickly  as  he  could,  to  add 
sandwiches  to  the  usual  fare,  and  put  whisky,  soda  water, 
and  glasses  all  ready  on  the  sideboard. 

"  After  all  we  have  gone  through,  and  the  long  delay," 
she  said  to  Emily,  "  I  am  quite  hungry ;  and  I  think  a 
regular  sit-down  schoolroom  tea  will  be  very  enjoyable." 


CHAPTER  VI 

ir  UST  as  old  Sir  Kenelm  had  done,  Roddy  Vaughan 
I  refused  to  take  "  No  "  for  an  answer ;  but  unlike  Sir 
^  Kenelm's  refusal,  his  was  of  a  blustering,  truculent 
ch.^racter.  Uncle  Derek's  mission  had  failed,  but  the  dear 
ol:  chap  was  not  disheartened;  he  reported  that  he  would 
tr  '  again,  and  indeed  go  on  working  helpfully  until  told 
tc  desist  by  the  family^  themselves.  He  had  succeeded 
in  making  Roddy  swallow  a  part  of  the  ultimatum,  al- 
though not  without  indignant  coughings  and  chokings  on 
tl  •»  part  of  Roddy.  Speaking  for  the  family  he  had 
forbidden  Roddy  to  come  to  the  house,  and  Roddy  came 
tli^re  no  more. 

But  however  offended  and  angry  Mr.  Vaughan  might 
be,  he  had  no  real  fear  that  his  intentions  would  be  finally 
fmstrated.  Like  Sir  Kenelm  he  felt  confident  that  every- 
tliing  would  come  right  in  the  end.  He  would  tire  them 
o  it  before  he  had  done  with  them.  At  the  worst,  it  was 
oily  a  matter  of  waiting,  with  what  patience  he  could. 

He  wrote  to  Claire,  making  sure  that  the  letter  wouU 
roach  her  by  a  safe  hand,  and  adjured  her  to  stand  firm. 
"  Be  true  to  me,  my  dear  one ;  "  and  so  on.  "  Don't  let 
t  lem  break  your  spirit.  Remember  I  am  always  here, 
c  ose  at  hand,  your  faithful  knight." 

Meantime  Mrs.  Gilmour's  home  atmosphere  continued  to 
be  charged  with  worry  and  distress.  Emily  was  always 
asking  her  mother  troublesome  questions.  She  asked  so 
riany  of  them  that  sometimes  she  made  Mrs.  Gilmour's 
head  ache.  Although  none  of  us  others  ever  saw  Mr. 
^'aughan,  was  Claire  seeing  Mr.  Vaughan  secretly,  on  the 
s^lj?  Ought  not  Claire  to  be  watched?  And  Pope.?  Sud- 
c  enly  suspicion  was  aroused  in  Emily's  compact  and  sol- 

69 


70  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

idly-moulded  bosom  concerning  Pope.  Should  not  Pope 
be  watched?  Was  it  not  possible  that  Pope  might  act  as 
a  go-between? 

Occasionally,  as  if  in  self-defence,  Mrs.  Gilmour  coun- 
tered or  parried  by  questioning  Emily.     She  did  so  now. 

"  Where  did  Pope  drop  from?  " 

^"Drop  from?"  echoed  Emily.     ^' What  do  you  mean, 
mother  ?  " 

"  Where  did  we  get  her  from  in  the  beginning?  She 
has  been  here  at  least  four  years.  Did  we  get  her  through 
Mrs.  Willoughby's  Agency?  Can  you  recall  the  date  of 
the  letter  in  which  I  told  Mrs.  Willoughby  that  I  would 
never  have  anything  more  to  do  with  her,  after  the  dis- 
graceful way  in  which  she  had  treated  me  about  that 
kitchenmaid?  Was  that  more  or  less  than  four  years 
ago?  Pope  didn't  come  through  Mrs.  Willoughby  if  it 
was  less  than  four  years.  No,  I  mean  more  than  four 
years,  don't  I?     Which  way  would  it  be?  " 

Another  question  that  she  asked  Emily  with  great 
solemnity  related  to  Sir  Kenelm. 

"  Don't  you  think,  Emily,  that  I  ought  now  to  tell  him 
what  has  happened?    I  don't  like  deception  of  any  kind." 

But  Emily  thought  not.  Indeed  she  was  quite  sure 
about  it.  She  said  that  no  deception  was  being  practised. 
The  Vaughan  affair  was  theoretically  over,  settled  and 
done  with.  On  the  other  hand,  Sir  Kenelm  had  adopted 
_  the  fine  attitude  of  not  being  in  a  hurry,  and  wishing  time 
to  be  allowed.  His  chances,  in  her  opinion,  were  as  good 
as  they  had  ever  been;  and  it  would  be  against  reason 
and  common  sense  to  go  and  throw  him  over  or  put  him 
off  by  the  disclosure  of  circumstances  that  he  need  never 
hear  of. 

"  I  should  call  that  doing  Claire  a  very  bad  turn  indeed" 
said  Mrs.  Joyce  emphatically. 

"  Well,  you  know  I  don't  want  to  do  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Gilmour. 


^       FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  71 

'  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  Emily,  late  in  the  evening 
in ;  ressively  starting  a  conversation  that  worried  her 
mu  her  more  than  any  previous  confidential  chat  between 
th  n.  "  Whether  Claire  marries  Sir  Kenelm  or  somebody 
el  ,  she  will  have  to  be  enlightened  a  little,  and  honestly 
I  aink  the  sooner  you  have  a  talk  with  her  the  better. 
I  1  lean  " — and  Emily  had  her  characteristic  laugh — "  I 
d(  I't  see  the  sense  of  waiting  to  have  the  interview  be- 
tv  <  en  mother  and  daughter  that  one  reads  about  in  French 
Hi    els — the  day  before,  you  know." 

'  Oh,  really  I  can't  follow  you,  Emily,  into  such  very 
dciicate  subjects.     Nor  do  I  think  it  can  be  necessary." 

She  tried  to  shy  away  from  Emily's  impressive  forefinger 
pointing  at  her;  she  felt  a  reluctance  that  seemed  to  be 
air  lost  religious  so  old-established  was  it.  She  had  the 
st  1  ongest  distaste  for  many  dreadful  new-fangled  notions  ; 
and  in  her  mind  the  topic  of  Emily's  discourse  connected 
itself  with  a  group  of  kindred  objectionable  ideas — such 
as,,  The  prevention  of  disease  by  publicity.  Natural  history 
lessons  for  children.  The  social  rehabilitation  of  the  fallen, 
eic,  etc.     But  Emily  was,  as  usual,  resolute. 

"  Mother,  haven^t  you  yourself  noticed  how  sillily  she 
talks?  Heaven  knows  the  girls  of  the  present  day  don't 
a;>  a  rule  require  to  be  told  what  o'clock  it  is ;  "  and  she 
d3scribed  how  she  had  been  "  frozen  "  by  the  free-and-easy 
talk  of  up-to-date  girls,  the  daughters  of  her  friends. 
"  But  Claire  is  different.  Of  course,  being  brought  up  by 
all  those  nuns — and  I  often  wonder  at  father  ever  having 
had  the  idea,  as  she  isn't  a  Catholic — may  account  for  it; 
also  the  queer,  secluded  existence  she  has  chosen  to  lead 
ii  this  house  amid  all  the  gaiety  and  fun  that  has  gone 
en  all  round  her.  At  any  rate,  I'm  certain  I'm  right." 
IviiA  she  narrated  how  Claire  had  "  blurted  out  things  that 
fhe  simply  couldn't  have  said  if  she  wasn't  in  the  dark 
i  bout  everything."  For  instance,  at  a  recent  luncheon- 
]  »arty  here,  when  somebody  had  spoken  of  immensely  rich 


72  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

people  praying  in  vain  to  have  children,  Claire  spoke  of 
other  people  who  pray  not  to  have  children.  "  '  Equally 
in  vain?^  asked  Colonel  Pirbright,  and  Fm  almost 
certain  that  I  saw  him  exchange  a  wink  with  Mrs. 
Pirbright." 

She  went  on  to  say  that  if  her  mother  couldn't  tackle  it, 
she  ought  to  get  Aunt  Agnes  to  talk  to  Claire. 

"  My  dear! "  said  Mrs.  Gilmour,  extremely  shocked. 
"  A  spinster .'^    How  can  you  suggest  such  a  thing?  " 

Emily  replied  to  the  effect  that  what  Aunt  Agnes  didn't 
know  wasn't  worth  knowing.  "  In  spite  of  all  her  treacly 
sentiment,  I  often  think  Aunt  Agnes  is  the  most  go-ahead 
party  I  ever  met.  You  should  see  the  books  she  gets 
from  the  London  library — Socialism,  Psychology,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it." 

Finally  she  said :  "  I'd  do  it  myself,  only  relations  are 
now  so  strained  that  Claire  and  I  are  scarcely  on  speaking 
terms.  I  suppose,  ordinarily,  I  should  be  the  proper  per- 
son to  do  it." 

And  Emily  laughed,  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  went 
to  bed. 

At  this  time,  although  none  pursued  the  course  pro- 
posed by  Emily,  many  people  talked  very  seriously  to 
Claire.  Amongst  others  Mrs.  Drysdale  sought  her  out 
and  told  her  a  lot  about  her  wifely  affection  for  Mr. 
Drysdale. 

"  I  dare  say  we  make  ourselves  very  absurd,  and  that 
people  laugh  at  us  for  it,"  said  Mrs.  Drysdale.  "  But 
even  at  our  time  of  life,  both  of  us  well  past  middle  age, 
we  cannot  help  letting  it  be  seen  how  truly  devoted  we 
are.  I  just  jump  for  joy  when  he  says  something  nice 
to  me,  and  he  never  misses  a  chance  of  saying  nice  things. 
Possibly,  having  no  children  has  concentryated  our  love, 
but  the  fact  remains  we  really  are  all  in  all  to  each  other. 
Believe  me,  Claire,  when  he  comes  home  earlier  than  I 
expected  and  takes  me  for  a  walk  in  the  park,  it  is  every 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  73 

it  as  big  a  treat  to  me  as  it  ^as  nearly  thirty  years  ago 
'hen  we  were  an  engaged  couple.  We  are  such  real  com- 
)anions. 

"  Marriage,  Claire,  truly  ^is  companionship.  That  is 
he  key-note,  the  raison  d'etre,  the  true  foundation  of  all 
)erfect  marriages.  Now,  do  you  really  feel  that  your 
loddy  is  the  companion  you  will  want  always?  " 

And  Claire  said  she  thought  she  really  did  feel  that.. 
5he  felt  that  Roddy  was  the  most  companionable  of  all  the 
)eople  she  had  ever  met. 

Another  person  was  Evan  Giles,  the  writer,  who  came 
;o  tea  one  day.  He  had  only  a  word  or  two  with  Claire, 
ind  to  obtain  these  he  manoeuvred  hex  into  a  recess  of 
one  of  the  drawing-room  windows  under  pretence  of  ex- 
amining a  miniature  that  Aunt  Agnes  had  given  her.  He 
vas  a  tall  thin  man,  grey  and  sad  of  aspect;  and  Emily 
(3omplained  that  he  always  looked  shabby  as  well  as  sad. 
But  Claire  admired  and  reverenced  him,  both  because  he 
was  the  only  author  she  had  ever  seen  in  the  flesh  and 
because  his  earlier  books  were  really  very  delightful  read- 
ing. 

"  I  have  heard  of  your  courtship,  Claire,"  he  said  hur- 
riedly. "  The  old  saying  is  quite  true,  you  know,  that 
marriage  is  a  lottery.  Don't  draw  a  wrong  number  if 
you  can  help  it,  Claire.  Remember,  it's  for  ever.  There's- 
no  way  out  of  it — no  way  that  you'd  be  ever  likely  to  find.. 
And  God  bless  you  '  Claire,  whatever  you  do."  Then, 
speaking  louder,  he  said,  "  Yes,  that  is  very  prettily 
painted.  There  were  numbers  of  clever  miniature-painters 
of  the  period,  besides,  Cosway ; "  and  they  went  back  ta 
the  others. 

Later  he  talked  of  Claire  to  Mrs.  Gilmour,  not  without 
adding  to  her  fatigue  by  his  eccentric  turns  of  expression 
and  his  habit  of  generalizing  rather  than  saying  straight 
out,  exactly  what  he  meant.  He  was  a  "  muddling  "  sort 
of  man. 


n  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

She  herself  often  felt  muddled  now,  especially  at  night. 
Under  the  worry  and  strain  to  which  she  was  subjected 
she  felt  that  she  was  in  danger  of  losing  that  strong  grip 
of  a  situation,  that  rapid  logic,  that  luminous  insight  for 
which,  as  she  considered,  she  had  always  been  justly  fa- 
nlous.  Her  thoughts  while  she  lay  trying  to  go  to  sleep 
seemed  to  be  confusedly  whirling  in  all  directions  ;  she  could 
neither  stop  them  nor  make  anything  of  them. 

One  night  when  the  muddle,  was  at  its  worst  a  sudden 
solution  of  her  difficulties  occurring  to  her,  or  rather  flash- 
ing upon  her  apparently  from  nowhere,  seemed  in  her 
excited  and  over-wrought  state  to  be  quite  new  and  fresh. 
Why  should  not  Claire  marry  Sir  Kenelm  after  all  ?  It 
would  clear  up  the  whole  tangle ;  and  its  advantages  mar- 
shalled themselves  as  a  magnificent  array.  Perhaps  Claire 
would  change  her  mind.  Perhaps  she  had  changed  her 
mind  already.  Girls  have  these  choppings  and  changings 
and  then  perhaps  from  pride  or  reticence  won't  confess 
that  their  opinion  has  gone  right  round.  She  determined 
to  sound  Claire  in  the  morning.  But  she  could  not  wait 
till  to-morrow.  It  would  be  so  delightful  to  know  now 
that  everything  was  all  right,  and  then  sleep  comfortably 
on  the  good  news. 

She  scrambled  out  of  bed,  wrapped  herself  in  her  seal- 
skin coat  because  she  did  not  see  her  dressing-gown,  has- 
tily put  on  a  large  feathered  hat  to  conceal  the 
disorder  of  her  hair,  and  went  straight  to  Claire's 
room. 

"  Claire,  are  you  awake?  Do  you  mind  turning  on  the 
light .'^  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  been  in  here  that  I  have 
forgotten  the  position  of  the  furniture,  and  I'm  afraid  of 
blundering  into  something.    Thank  you,  dear." 

Then  she  sat,  almost  jauntily,  on  the  arm  of  the  sofa, 
with  her  big  hat  on  one  side  and  elfin  wisps  of  hair  es- 
caping while  she  expounded  her  solution  of  the  problem. 
She  was  grievously  disappointed  by  Claire's  replies,  and 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  76 

h  T  pose  gradually  lost  its  spring  and  became  drooping 
a  id  dejected. 

"  But  you'll  think  about  it  Claire ;  "  and  although  she 

*i  d  not  actually  beg  Claire  to  marry  Sir  Kenelm  for  her 

i  other's  sake,  she  showed  how  Claire  would  immensely 

('  ihance  the  comfort  of  all  her  relatives  by  marrying  him, 

"  Well,  if  it  can't  be,  it  can't  be,"  she  said  dolefully* 
''  I  will  merely  ask  you  to  think  about  what  I  have  said. 
Turn  out  the  light,  dear." 

Claire  lay  thinking  about  it  in  the  darkness. 

Next  day  was  Saturday,  and  Mrs.  Gilmour  had  booked 
.'fats  for  herself  and  Emily  at  Madame  Clara  Butt's 
ivftemoon  concert  at  the  Albert  Hall;  but  towards  the  end 
of  luncheon  she  expressed  a  doubt  whether  she  would  go 
It)  the  concert.     She  said  she  felt  worn  out. 

"  I  am  not  surprised,"  said  Mrs.  Joyce  meaningly,  and 
^]ie  glanced  across  the  luncheon  table  at  Claire.  Then 
hhe  continued,  with  an  affectation  of  cheerful  fortitude. 
*•  You'll  be  all  right,  mother.  We  needn't  start  early,  so 
there's  plenty  of  time  for  you  to  take  a  little  rest." 

"  Rest!  "  said  Mrs.  Gilmour.  "  I  think  I  have  for- 
gotten the  meaning  of  the  term ; "  and  she  stared  at  the 
ceiling,  as  though  wondering  if  she  would  rediscover  its 
laeaning  some  day  in  impalpable  regions  high  above  the 
first  and  second  floors. 

"  Oh,  you'll  be  all  right,"  repeated  Emily.  "  I  have 
crdered  the  car  at  a  quarter  to  three  and  we  can  come 
^way  at  half  past  four.  It  will  be  good  for  you."  Then 
she  looked  at  Claire  again,  and  tried  to  speak  in  a  tone 
(  f  careless  unsuspicious  good-nature.  "  What  are  you 
I  ;oing  to  do,  Claire  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  particular." 

*-  You  are  going  to  stay  in.?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  we  can't  offer  to  take  you  with  us, 
1  ecause  we  have  only  the  two  seats." 


76  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Let  her  go  in  my  place,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour. 

"  Oh,  no,  mother,"  said  Claire.  "  I  wouldn't  think 
of  it." 

"  If  it  comes  to  that,"  said  Emily  with  lofty  indiffer- 
ence, "  you  can  take  her  instead  of  me." 

But  Claire  said  no,  of  course  not.  She  could  not  oust 
Emily,  who  was  much  fonder  of  that  sort  of  music  than 
she  herself. 

She  was  presently  left  alone  at  the  table,  and  she  sat 
there  by  herself  till  the  servants  came  to  take  things  away. 
Then  she  went  into  the  morning-room,  and  as  she  stood 
by  one  of  the  lace-curtained  windows  looking  disconsol- 
ately at  the  houses  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  she 
heard  her  mother's  voice  close  by  in  the  library.  As  so 
often  happened  all  doors  were  open,  for  Mrs.  Gilmour  had 
been  prowling  instead  of  resting.  "  No,"  said  Mrs.  Gil- 
mour, with  a  sigh,  "  I'm  afraid  you  are  right,  Emily, 
and  that  there'll  never  be  any  real  peace  in  this  house  until 
Claire  is  out  of  it." 

This  truly  was  but  a  variant  on  many  well-intentioned 
speeches  that  Mrs.  Gilmour  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of 
making  when  she  spoke  of  Claire — such  as,  "  That  enjoy- 
ment must  wait  till  Claire  is  happily  married  and  settled," 
and  so  forth.  Only  to-day  she  left  out  all  the  softening 
adjectives  and  expressed  the  thought  crudely.  Moreover, 
Claire  had  never  till  now  heard  her  mother  emit  so  heavy 
a  sigh  as  that  which  preluded  the  speech.  The  sigh  and 
the  words  that  followed  took  her  breath  away  and  left 
her  gasping;  so  that  she  could  not  have  intervened  or  in 
any  manner  have  announced  herself  as  being  within  ear- 
shot, had  she  thought  of  doing  so. 

"  If,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour,  "  It  is  to  go  on  like  this  much 
longer,  one  of  two  things  will  happen.  Either  I  shall 
break  down  under  it,  or,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I 
shall  lose  my  temper  and  be  unkind  to  Claire.  For,  truly, 
the  very  sight  of  her  is  beginning  to  get  on  my  nerves." 


?0R  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  77 

Claire  pulled  out  her  handkerchief,  and  hurried  from 

ti  3  room.    And  as  she  crossed  the  black  and  white  marble 

^  oi  the  hall  and  hurried  up  the  shallow  steps  of  the  wide 

st  urease,  the  echo  of  her  mother's  words  stabbed  her  again 

a]  d  again. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Claire?  "  asked  Mrs.  Joyce  at  a  quar- 
ts r  to  three,  when  she  and  her  mother  came  rustling  down 
t[  e  stairs,  both  gorgeously  attired  for  the  concert  in  gay- 
C(  loured  summer-like  garments. 

"  Upstairs  in  her  room,  I  believe,  ma'am,"  said  Belton. 

Claire  was  in  her  room  sitting  on  the  pretty  chintz- 
covered  sofa,  clasping  her  slender  fingers  tightly,  looking 
T'  th  flooded  eyes  at  all  the  graceful  pretty  things  that  sur- 
iC'unded  her,  and  thinking  as  strenuously  as  she  could. 

She  thought  of  the  violent  tirade  delivered  by  Cyril  that 
I  ght  when  he  had  come  in  here  to  thank  her  for  being 
kind  to  his  friend;  she  thought  of  the  contemptuous  things 
I4?  had  said  about  snobbery  and  prejudice,  of  how  he  had 
threatened  to  go  right  away  in  search  of  freedom  and  wide 
horizons,  because  the  narrowness  of  his  life  wlas  stifling 
him.  Those  were  his  real  sentiments;  his  recent  cruel 
change  of  opinion  in  regard  to  her  case  had  been  occasioned 
artificially. 

Above  all,  she  thought  of  how  he  had  declared  that  if  he 
went  away,  their  mother  would  not  long  miss  him — not 
even  htMy  the  adored  one.  He  was  probably  wrong  in  be- 
lieving that ;  but  how  foolish  it  would  be  for  a  momemnt  to 
suppose  that  she  could  miss  anyone  else,  except,  as  she 
herself  had  &aid,  pleasantly ! 


CHAPTER  VII 

ON  this  warm  and  sunny  afternoon,  Roddy  Vaughan, 
having  nothing  better  to  do,  held  a  sort  of  informal 
reveiw  of  his  wardrobe.  The  lodgings  that  he  oc- 
cupied over  the  hatter's  shop  in  New  Bond  Street  were  on 
the  first  floor ;  and  they  comprised  a  sitting-room  in  front 
and  a  bedroom  behind,  the  two  rooms  communicating  with 
large  double  doors.  Rodd}^  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  smoking 
a  pipe,  passed  backwards  and  forwards  between  the  dark 
bedroom  and  the  not  very  bright  drawing-room,  laying  out 
and  examining  many  pairs  of  trousers  on  the  red  velvet 
chairs,  going  to  the  window,  and  standing  at  one  side  of 
it  to  catch  all  the  sunlight  that  was  permitted  to  enter 
by  the  hatter's  Royal  coat-of-arms,  a  large  plaster  orna- 
ment very  ugly  to  look  at  on  this  the  wrong  side,  while  he 
inspected  the  braided  lapels  of  a  morning  jacket  or  the 
buttonholes  of  a  white  waistcoat. 

"  Come  in,"  he  called  jovially,  when  his  landlord  tapped 
at  the  sitting-room  door. 

"  A  lady  to  see  you,  sir ;  "  and  the  landlord,  who  had 
been  a  valet  in  private  service,  ushered  the  lady  into  the 
room  with  quite  a  grand  manner  and  softly  closed  the  door 
behind  her. 

"Claire!" 

"  I've  done  what  you  said,  Roddy.     I've  come  to  you." 

He  was  so  completely  staggered  that  he  stood  there,  by 
the  window,  not  even  throwing  down  the  white  waistcoat 
or  taking  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth.  Then  his  face  flushed 
and  the  blood  began  to  dance  in  his  veins. 

"  Roddy !  "  She  looked  at  him,  and  her  lips  trembled. 
*^  You  did  mean  all  you  said,  that  you  were  really  fond  of 
me  and  wanted  me.^  " 

78 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  7» 

"  My  darling  girl  of  course  I  did." 
"  If  you  don't,  I'll  go  away.     I  can't  go  home.     But  I 
<:  )uld  go  to  Aunt  Agnes,  or  to  Mrs.  Drysdale." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it."    He  dropped  the  waistcoat  now, 

ime  to  her  with  coatless  arms  outstretched,  put  his  hands 

1  her  shoulders,  and  kissed  her.     "  Understand,  I  adore 

,  3U.     I  worship  the  ground  you  walk  on.    Tell  me  every- 

ling  that  has  happened." 

"  I've  simply  done  what  you  said.    I've  come  to  you  for 
J  pod.     I  have  thought  and  thought,  and  I  know  it's  best, 
am  fond  of  you.     I  trust  you." 

"  Claire,  you're  a  tip-topper.  I  knew  you  were  full 
ni  grit  and  courage — and  you  have  proved  it,  with 
I  vengeance.  Now  sit  down  while  I  think  things 
oat." 

She  sat  on  one  of  the  dreadful  red  velvet  chairs  with 
iier  hands  folded  on  her  lap,  and  glanced  about  the  room 
^5  onderingly .     It  was  such  a  room  as  she  had  never  en- 
tered before  in  all  her  life,  so  sordid  in  its  vulgar  attempt 
o  seem  luxurious,  so  repellent  in  its  taniished  air  of  offer* 
ing  welcome  to  all  comers;  worse  than  the  waiting-room  at 
ci  cheap  dentist's,  because  it  smelt  of  stale  tobacco,  as  well 
as  of  unswept  dusty  carpet.     Roddy,  pulling  on  his  coat 
.'is  he  came  back  from  the  bedroom,  was  conscious  of  the 
splendid  incongruity  of  her   aspect   in  this  place.      She 
};eemed  to  him  like  the  princess  heroine  of  a  fairy-tale — 
and  she  had  come  here  to  give  herself  to  him,  the  humble 
mt  glorious  hero.     Obtaining  her  permission  first,  he  lit 
i  pipe  in  order  to  calm  himself.    He  must  think  now  wise- 
y  and  yet  rapidly. 

What  should  he  do  with  her?  He  thought  of  differrent 
courses  of  possible  action.  Get  a  special  license  and  marry 
ler  to-morrow  morning?  Take  her  straight  back  to  her 
nother,  playing  the  magnanimous,  trusting  them  to  be  so 
gratefully  touched  by  his  lofty  chivalrous  conduct  that 
hey  would  of  their  own  free  will  reward  him  with  her 


80  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

hand?  Or  hide  her  away  somewhere,  and  treat  with  them 
from  a  distance? 

What  every  drop  of  blood,  every  pulse  in  his  body  told 
him  to  do  was  to  take  her  into  the  back  room,  smother  her 
with  kisses,  and  hang  the  consequences.  But  he  must  not 
^o  that.  His  conduct  must  of  course  be  absolutely  fault- 
less. All  the  cards  were  in  his  hand  now ;  it  would  be  too 
absurd  not  to  play  them  properly. 

He  asked  her  a  few  more  hurried  questions. 

**  When  will  they  find  out  you  have  gone?  " 

"  I  left  a  letter  for  mother." 

"Yes,  but  as  you  say  she  was  out  for  the  afternoon,  she 
won't  have  got  it  yet.     When  will  she  get  it?  " 

Claire  looked  at  the  little  watch  on  her  wrist.  "  In 
about  an  hour  from  now.  They  won't  be  home  till  half- 
past  four  at  the  earliest." 

"  An  hour.  Then  we  haven't  any  time  to  lose ;  "  and 
he  jumped  up  from  his  chair,  went  out  to  the  dark  and 
dingy  landing,  and  called  down  the  stairs  to  the  landlord. 
^'  Mr.  Mudge!  You've  got  an  A.B.C.  guide,  haven't  you? 
Bring  it  up,  please.  And,  look  here,  help  me  chuck  a  few 
things  into  the  kit-bag — just  a  change — grey  flannels. 
I  shan't  need  my  dress  clothes." 

He  had  made  his  decision.  There  was  a  place  that  he 
knew  of  in  the  New  Forest,  half  farm,  half  lodging-house^ 
belonging  to  nice  respectable  people.  He  would  take  her 
down  there.  The  hunting  was  over,  the  tourist  season  had 
not  begun ;  they  would  not  be  likely  to  meet  anybody  they 
knew.  That  was  the  wisest,  most  advantageous  thing  to 
do.  She  would  be  technically  compromised.  Her  family 
would  have  no  choice  but  to  let  him  marry  her  on  his  own 
terms.  He  could  command  them;  and  he  determined  to 
carry  the  thing  through  with  a  high  hand. 

He  came  in  again  from  the  landing,  clapped  his  hands, 
and  laughed  gaily. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  81 

"  And  you  mean  to  say,  Claire,  you've  come  with  noth- 
i  ig  but  what  you  stand  up  in  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  bring  anything  else,  Roddy." 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  are  a  tip-topper.  I  never  heard 
(  f  such  pluck.  Just  a  little  prize  packet  of  all-right,  in- 
^  ide  and  out." 

The  A.B.C.  confirmed  his  recollection  that  a  Bourne- 
I  louth  express  left  Waterloo  just  before  five  o'clock.  He 
(hanged  his  clothes;  Mr.  Mudge  packed  his  bag,  and 
i etched  a  taxi-cab;  and  off  they  went.  In  the  taxi-cab 
le  laughed  boisterously,  cracking  jokes  and  snapping 
his  fingers. 

"  Claire,"  he  said,  "  this  is  the  most  tremendous  lark 
1  hat  the  world  has  ever  seen," 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MRS.  GILMOUR  and  Emily  returned  from  the  con- 
cert rather  late,  but  in  excellent  spirits.  Mrs. 
Gilmour  had  been  spasmodically  humming 
"  Home,  Sweet  Home  "  all  the  way  back  from  Kensington, 
and  she  was  speaking  of  the  simple  little  English  ballad 
as  she  came  up  the  steps  outside  her  own  door. 

"  What  a  voice,  Emily !  No  wonder  they  encored  it 
like  that.  Five  times,  wasn't  it?  Well,  Belton,  has  Miss 
Claire  had  tea?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  Miss  Claire  is  out.  Pope  wishes  to  see 
you,  ma'am." 

"Pope?"  said  Emily  sharply.  "If  Miss  Claire  has 
gone  out,  why  isn't  Pope  with  her?" 

"  I  couldn't  say,  ma'am." 

And  Belton  retiring  admitted  Pope  into  the  hall  through 
the  red-baize  door.  Pope  seemed  to  be  scared  and 
nervous. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  this?"  said  Emily,  with  in- 
creasing sharpness.  "Why  have  you  let  Miss  Claire  go 
out  by  herself?  You  knew  very  well  that  unless  she  is  with 
one  of  us  it  is  your  duty  to  go  with  her." 

Pope  eagerly  asserted  that  she  had  wished  to  perform 
this  duty,  but  Miss  Claire  had  forbidden  her.  Miss  Claire 
was  "  upset,"  but  very  firm.  Miss  Claire,  she  thought, 
had  had  one  of  her  crying  fits.  Miss  Claire  had  left  a  let- 
ter, to  be  given  by  Pope  to  Mrs.  Gilmour.     Here  it  was. 

Mrs.  Gilmour  read  the  letter,  began  to  shake  and  wave 
her  hands  then  gropingly  made  for  the  morning-room, 
followed  by  Emily,  and  for  once  shut  the  door. 

"  Read  it."     And  Emily  read  it. 

82 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  83 

"  My   DEAfiEST   MOTHEE, 

"  I  have  gone  away  to  marry  Roddy.     I  know 
'  ou  will  not  mind,  except  perhaps  at  first,  and  I  am  sure  it 
;  the  best  thing  for  me  to  do.     I  will  send  you  our  ad- 
ress  soon. 

"  Claire." 

Both  of  them  very  pale,  both  of  them  with  tremulous 
}  ands,  Emily  and  Mrs.  Gilmour  handed  the  letter  to  and 
Iro  between  them,  staring  at  each  other  and  uttering 
ejaculations  to  which  neither  listened. 

"  That's  all  she  says.  .  .  .  Not  another  word.  .  .  . 
"  lun  away  with  him.  .  .  .  Bolted.  .  .  .  Gone  out  of  her 
jnother's  house  like  that.  .  .  .  Yes,  she's  gone.  .  .  .  What 
u  thing  to  do.  .  .  ,  Just  bolted.  .  .  .  We  must  keep  it  quiet 
at  all  costs.  .  .  .1  shall  die  of  shame  if  it's  ever 
imown.   ..." 

"  Emily,  give  me  back  her  letter." 

Mrs.  Gilmour,  suddenly  stung  to  energetic  effort, 
plunged  out  into  the  hall  again,  calling  shrilly  for  Belton. 

"  Wait  there.  Pope.  It's  Belton  I  want,  not  you,  for 
the  moment.  .  .  .  Oh,  Belton,  the  car !  Order  the  car  at 
once.  It  is  no  question  of  his  getting  his  tea,  I  must  be 
off  now.  I  have  to  see  Mr.  Harpington  without  a  minute's 
delay." 

Emily  had  run  to  the  telephone  and  was  yelling  for  a 
number.  Mrs.  Gilmmour  called  to  her  to  stop  telephoning. 
^'  Ne  dites  rien  a  personne.  Faut  pas  que  personne  sache 
la  verite." 

"Only  Leonard,"  said  Emily  hysterically,  coming  from 
the  telephone  and  leaving  the  receiver  dangling.  "  I  must 
have  Leonard  here.  We  can't  get  on  without  Leonard." 
Then  seeing  Pope,  she  turned  on  her  savagely.  **  Now, 
Pope,  I've  seen  through  you  some  time,  and  you  can  just 
go  upstairs  and  pack  your  box,  and  clear  out,  and " 

'*^No,  no,"  cried  Mrs.  Gilmour.    "  What  nonsense!  How 


84  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

absurd ! "  And  she  addressed  Pope  with  a  pitiable  imita- 
tion of  her  own  normal  manner.  "  It  is  not  your  box, 
Pope,  but  Miss  Claire^s  boxes  that  you  have  to  pack — to 
send  after  her,  you  know.  You  will  follow.  Etes-vous 
folle,  Emily?  You  understand.  Pope,  Miss  Claire  has 
had  the  idea  of  going  into  the  country  to  friends  of 
ours." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  And  I  am  not  expecting  her  back  for  a  few  days. 
Unless,  of  course,  she  changes  her  mind — in  which  case  I 
should  be  very  glad  to  see  her,  and  you  would  unpack 
again." 

Then  Mrs.  Gilmour  started  on  such  a  pracing  ramble 
through  the  rooms  as  they  had  never  yet  seen.  Through 
the  opened  doors  she  passed  like  a  whirlwind,  and  Emily 
ran  here  and  there  to  catch  a  word  with  her  in  transit. 

"  Mother,  only  Leonard.  He  counts  as  a  son.  He  can 
help — set  the  police  in  motion." 

"  Oh,  will  the  car  never  come  ?  How  long  am  I  to  be 
kept  waiting  for  the  car?" 

"  Mother,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  when  the  car  is 
here?  " 

^'  Go  in  pursuit.     I  must  rescue  my  child." 

"  Then  take  Leonard  with  you."  And  Emily  dashed 
off  to  the  telephone  again. 

"  If  you  tell  him,  give  him  no  particulars.  It  is  Uncle 
Derek  who  must  know  the  facts.  Ring  up  the  Travellers', 
Tell  Derek  I  am  on  the  way  to  him  now.  I  will  pick  him 
up  and  take  him  on  with  me." 

Then  when  she  was  next  passing,  she  fell  upon  Emily 
in  sudden  explosive  wrath. 

"  Emily,  I  heard  you  saying  the  very  words.  Half 
the  house  could  have  heard  you.  You  said  the  very 
words — *  Run  away.'  " 

"  Only  to  Leonard,  ipother." 

Mrs.  Gilmour  burst  into  tears.     "  It  is  you,  Emily,'* 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  85 

e  sobbed,  "  Who  have  brought  this  on  me — mismanaging, 
K)  jscuring  my  judgment." 

"  It's  cruel  of  you  to  say  so,  mother ; "  and  Emily  be- 
:  m  to  cry  too. 

"  You  took  me  away  just  when  I  ought  to  have  been 
2re — the  very  afternoon  she  takes  it  into  her  head  to  do 
:  lis  madness  /  am  carted  off  to  the  Albert  Hall " 

"Mother!" 

Then  they  embraced,  and  wept  for  a  few  moments  on 
cich  other's  necks.  "  Forgive  me,  Emily.  I  didn't  mean 
:.    Oh,  where  is  that  csly?  " 

"  It's  all  right,  mother.  I  know  you  didn't  really  mean 
I:.    Let  me  put  your  hat  straight." 

And  then,  by  the  queerest  of  chances,  Cyril  drifted  in. 
i^s  a  rule  he  was  never  here  at  such  an  hour,  least  of  all 
on  a  Saturday. 

"  Oh,  my  boy — my  poor  boy.  You  at  any  fate  are 
guiltless,  for  you  never  wavered  in  your  dislike  of  him." 

Quickly  made  aware  of  the  catastrophe,  Cyril  dropped 
upon  a  chair  by  the  central  heating  apparatus,  and  in  a 
dreadful  tragic  whisper  uttered  his  thoughts. 

"  The  villain.  The  cursed  villain."  Then  he  began  to 
shout  for  Belton. 

"Did  you  call,  sir?" 

"  Belton,  Where's  that  revolver  that  I  bought  when  Mrs. 
Gilmour  was  worried  at  night  by  those  cats  from  Number 
Nine?" 

"  I  have  it,  put  away  downstairs,  sir." 

"  Fetch  it." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

And  Cyril  hissed  through  his  teeth.  "  I'll  kill  him.  I'll 
kill  him  at  sight." 

Mrs.  Gilmour  gave  a  moan. 

"  A  duel !  Oh,  heaven  forbid.  Do  you  want  to  make  me 
quite  frantic?  Don't  you  see  that  if  there  is  a  breath  of 
scandal,  your  sister's  reputation  is  gone  for  ever?    A  duel 


86  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

— everything  in  the  papers — when  our  one  task  is  to  pre^ 
vent  a  soul  from  knowing.  What  you  said  to  Belton  is 
already  sufficient  to  arouse  his  suspicions." 

"  If  he  wrongs  her,  I  intend  to  kill  him." 

*'Hush." 

"  Besides,"  said  Emily,  "  he  is  just  as  likely  to  kill  you 
as  you  him,  if  it  comes  to  firearms.    He  was  in  the  army." 

Mrs.  Gilmour  moaned  again. 

"Where  does  he  live?"  asked  Emily.  "  I  suppose 
mother  will  go  there  first  of  all — that  is,  after  the 
Travellers'." 

"  I  know  where  he  lives,  but  I  can't  think,"  said  Cyril 
distractingly.  "  Bond  Street.  They  would  know  at  his 
club — but  of  course  they  might  refuse  to  tell  us.  He 
belongs  to  the  Junior  Regent." 

"  Yes,  that  is  where  I  sent  that  fatal  card  of  invitation," 
said  Mrs.  Gilmour. 

It  was  pitiful.  This  the  greatest  accident  that  had  ever 
befallen  the  house  was  altogether  too  big  for  them.  The 
colour  seemed  to  be  permanently  banished  from  their 
drawn  faces ;  all  their  hands  trembled ;  as  they  looked  at 
one  another  there  was  nothing  to  read  in  their  eyes  but 
confusion,  impotence,  panic. 

"  The  car  is  at  the  door,"  said  Belton. 

They  drove  about  in  the  car,  at  first  three  of  them,  then 
four  with  Uncle  Derek,  and  finally  five  counting  Leonard 
Joyce.  Not  without  delay  and  difficulty  Derek  enabled 
them  to  get  Roddy's  address  from  the  club  porter;  and  at 
last,  having  left  the  car  round  the  corner,  they  stood  out- 
side the  hatter's  closely  shuttered  shop  and  feverishly 
pressed  the  bell  button  at  the  side  door. 

The  birds  had  long  since  flown. 

Mr.  Mudge,  the  landlord,  could  not  say  where.  He  did 
not  know  what  would  be  Mr.  Vaughan's  next  address. 
He  had  instructions  to  take  Mr.  Vaughan's  letters  down 
to  the  club,  and  doubtless  Mr.  Vaughan  would  write  to 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  87, 

t  '  club  and  ask  for  them  if  he  wanted  them.  Mr.  Mudge, 
c  >ss-examined,  even  threatened,  by  Leonard  Joyce,  could 
n   b  or  would  not  tell  them  anything  more  than  that. 

Considerably  past  eight  o'clock,  Belton  with  his  as- 
s  tants  served  dinner  to  them,  stanchly  maintaining  his 
p  hte  pretence  that  nothing  unusual  had  happened  or  was 
h  ppening.  But  they  were  all  of  them  still  in  morning 
diBSS,  and  no  circumstance  could  have  typified  more 
s  ongly  the  violent  break  in  custom,  the  catastrophic  up- 
h  xval  that  the  house  had  suffered.  They  all  ate  heartily 
b  '  3ause  the  stress  of  their  emotions  had  made  them  very 
h  ngry,  and  some  of  them,  moreover,  had  missed  their 
a'ternoon  tea.  When  dessert  had  been  put  on  the  table 
a  d  the  servants  had  gone  to  fetch  the  coffee  old  Derek 
d  d  his  very  best  to  sustain  the  courage  of  his  courtesy 
nephews  and  nieces. 

"  My  experience  leads  me  on  occasions  like  this  always 
to  say  the  same  thing.  Incidents  that  seem  alarming  in 
tlie  beginning  often  take  a  better  turn  before  they  are 
fi  lished.  Don't  let  us  be  unnecessarily  gloomy.  Let  us 
ba  as  hopeful  as  we  can.  We  have  made  no  false  step  so 
far.  That  is  always  a  great  thing.  Your  instinct," 
a  id  he  beamed  at  Mrs.  Gilmour,  "  to  keep  everything  in 
the  narrowest  circle  was  absolutely  sound.  The  fewer 
p?ople  we  take  into  our  confidence  the  better.  I  myself 
an  very  hopeful.  I  quite  see  your  point,  Emily,  about 
tlie  impossibility  of  their  getting  married  so  late  in  the 
diy — as  she  did  not  leave  the  house  till  three  p.m. — and 
tlie  annoyance  of  to-morrow's  being  Sunday.  Also  I  fol- 
low Leonard's  argument.  As  a  lawyer  he  is  on  his  own 
g  "ound  there ;  "  and  he  nodded  and  smiled  at  Leonard. 
"  You  know  what  you  are  talking  about  when  you  assure 
Ui  that  he  could  not  obtain  a  special  license,  any  more 
t  lan  the  ordinary  kind,  without  making  the  false  declar- 
a  ion  that  Claire  is  over  age  or  that  her  guardians  are 
c  unseating  parties.    But  there  are  ways  of  getting  round 


88  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  \i^ORSE 

things.  And  we  have  to  consider  whether  in  the  peculiar 
circumstances  he  would  hesitate  to  make  the  declaration. 
Personally  I  don't  think  that  as  a  gallant  man  he  ought 
to  hesitate.  No,  honestly,  I  don't  attach  too  much  im- 
portance to  Leonard's  doubts — and  I  feel  that  we  shall 
be  wrong  if  we  impute  the  worst  motives,  until  we  have 
greater  reason  to  do  so." 

Then  Belton  came  in  with  a  telegram  and  offered  it  to 
Mrs.  Gilmour  on  a  salver. 

"  It's  a  telegram,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour, 

Belton  hurried  from  the  room,  rather  shattering  the* 
polite  pretence  by  his  discreet  anxiety  to  get  away  before 
the  telegram  was  opened  and  read. 

"  C.  is  quite  safe.     Will  write. — Roddy." 

They  all  read  the  message  in  turn,  each  contributing 
ejaculations,  and  the  paper  was  started  for  another  round 
of  the  table. 

"  That's  all  he  says.  .  .  .  No  more  than  that.  .  .  . 
Handed  in  at  Southhampton  West.  .  .  .  Fancy  his  daring 
to  sign  it  Roddy.  .  .  .  Yes,  handed  in  at  Southhampton 
West." 

And  a  feverishly  agitated  discussion  burst  forth  as  to 
how  the  message  should  be  interpreted. 

Uncle  Derek  was  inclined  to  think  that  the  use  of  the 
diminutive  Roddy  was  a  favourable  indication.  "  Besides, 
I  ask  myself:  If  he  did  not  mean  well,  why  should  he 
telegraph  at  all  ?  " 

"  You  don't  think,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour,  "  that  they  are 
married  already?  " 

"  Of  course  they  are  not  married,"  said  Mr.  Joyce. 

"  I  was  asking  Uncle  Derek,  not  you,  Leonard." 

"  No,"  said  Uncle  Derek  regretfully.  "  I  think  if  a 
marriage  of  any  sort  had  been  consummated — I  should  say, 
celebrated — that  he  would  say  so,  and  put  us  out  of  our 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  80 

:  ispense.    No,  I  don't  think  they  are  married.    Not  yet."^ 

"  Soutlihampton  West ! "  cried  Mrs.  Gilmour  abruptly. 

'   That's  where  the  ships  sail  for  America ;  "  and  she  threw 

erself   right  back   in   her   chair,   and   closed   her   eyes. 

'   It  is  plain.    He  has  lured  her  down  there  in  order  to  take 

1  er  to  America." 

"  But  why  should  he  do  that?  " 

"Who  can  say?  Revenge,  wickedness!  We  shall  all 
1  e  disgraced.     We  shall  never  see  her  again." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Uncle  Derek.  "  We  must  not  throw 
up  the  sponge  like  this.  We  must  go  on  hoping  for  the 
heet.  There  is  no  lane  so  long  that  it  has  not  a  turning, 
'  ooner  or  later." 

At  this  same  hour  of  the  eveniMg  the  runaway  couple 
liad  just  finished  supper  in  their  farmhouse  parlour.  Pres^ 
(ntly  they  stood  in  the  wooden  porch  with  the  lamplighti 
behind  them  and  the  grey  mysterious  night  in  front  of 
them.  Great  bushes  and  shrubs  in  the  small  garden  seemed 
of  enormous  size,  and  clusters  of  blossoms  showing  their 
true  colours  where  the  lamp  glow  fell  upon  them  looked! 
like  paper  flowers;  further  off  she  could  make  out  dark 
masses  of  foliage  of  apparently  limitless  extent,  and,  be- 
yond some  imseen  meadows,  a  heath  that  they  had  crossed 
in  the  fading  daylight  rose  upwards  to  a  long  ridge  and  the 
faint  grey  sky.  The  scene  wgfs  lovely,  fantastic,  dream- 
hke,  seeming  to  be  millions  of  miles  away  from  Sloane 
Street  and  Lennox  Gardens,  belonging  to  a  different  world 
— the  outskirts  of  her  newly  discovered  coimtry,  her  land 
of  freedom  and  hope. 

Roddy  said  she  must  be  tired  by  now,  and  after  giving 
him  one  of  her  childlike  kisses  she  went  upstairs  to  bed. 

The  lattice  window  stood  open  and  the  soft  pure  air| 
came  gently  in,  with  whispers  of  the  trees,  strange,  far- 
off  sounds  of  birds  or  beasts,  and  a  wonderful  fragrance 
of  flowers  and  herbs  and  earth.     The  ceiling  waa  so  low 


&0  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

that  she  could  touch  it  with  her  hand;  the  sheets  were 
stiff  and  rough ;  the  nightgown  lent  her  by  the  landlady 
was  as  heavy  as  a  smock-frock.  The  whole  little  bed,  as 
she  stooped  over  it,  smelt  like  a  field  of  new-mown  grass. 
But  she  loved  it  all;  she  would  not  have  had  anything 
otherwise.  Roddy  was  pacing  to  and  fro  in  the  garden 
below  the  window,  giving  her  a  sense  of  company  and  pro- 
tection in  the  midst  of  strangeness,  and  his  voice  was  the 
last  thing  that  she  heard  before  she  dropped  off  to  sleep. 
He  called  to  her  softly  and  kindly. 

"  Good-night,  you  dear  little,  brave  little  Claire.  Sleep^ 
well.     Good-night." 

**  Good-night,  dear  Roddy,''  she  murmured  drowsily. 

Next  day  was  Sunday,  but  on  the  morrow  he  hired  a  mo- 
tor car  and  took  her  over  to  Lymington,  where  he  bought 
her  a  cotton  dress,  a  Panama  hat,  another  pair  of  shoes, 
and  anything  else  that  she  wanted  to  make  her  comfort- 
able. She  was  surprised  that  they  had  not  been  married 
before  now,  but  she  felt  no  uneasiness  on  this  point.  She 
was,  however,  slightly  distressed  when  he  refused  to  allow 
her  to  write  to  her  mother  and  give  their  giddress,  as  she 
had  promised.  He  reassured  her  by  saying  that  he  was 
about  to  write  to  them  himself,  and  reminded  her  that,  hav- 
ing had  his  telegram,  they  knew  she  was  quite  safe. 

Then  for  day  after  day  it  was  the  happiest  time  of  her 
life.  They  tramped  for  prodigious  distances  through  the 
splendid  old  forest,  drove  in  a  little  pony-cart,  took  their 
food  with  them  and  had  picnics.  It  was  all  novelty,  all 
happiness.  The  landlady,  the  farmer,  the  dairywcgnen, 
even  the  animals  in  the  farmyard,  had  become  old  and 
valued  friends  to  her.  It  was  sunshine,  health,  laughter. 
And  throughout  it  all,  Roddy  was  the  perfect  companion, 
what  Cyril  used  to  be  but  could  never  be  again,  like  a 
brother,  like  a  friend,  like  a  boisterous,  happy-go-lucky 
schoolboy. 

Yet  beneath  all  the  fun  and  frolic  business  was  pro- 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  91 

f  ressing  satisfactorily.     Before  a  week  of  the  idyll  had 

-  ipped  away  Roddy  was  in  treaty  with  the  family.  Every- 

ling  was  working  out  exactly  as  he  had  anticipated.    He 

ad  all  the  trump  cards ;  and,  metaphorically,  he  banged 

t  lem  down  on  the  table  with  exultant  determination,  say- 

\g  "  Play  to  that.    My  trick,  I  fancy,  if  you  don't  mind. 

(rot  anything  bigger  than  the  King?    No,  I  thought  not. 

^  'hank  you.'' 

He  had  sent  them  a  terrible  letter  to  begin  with,  saying 
that  Claire  had  sought  refuge  with  him  from  the  cruelty 
3  nd  ill-usage  that  she  wa§  suffering  at  home,  and  in  dread 
list  she  should  be  forced  into  a  marriage  with  a  man  old 
enough  to  be  her  grandfather  from  the  mercenary  motives 
cf  those  who  were  trying  to  abuse  their  position  as 
i.oiardians.  He  further  told  them  that  if  they  questioned 
his  conduct  in  the  matter,  he  was  quite  "  prepared  to  hslve 
the  whole  thing  thrashed  out  in  public." 

The  absolute  propriety  of  his  conduct  gave  him  an  added 
strength.  He  asked  himself  if  ever  a  man  had  shown 
greater  delicacy  of  mind,  more  chivalrous  self-restraint. 
He  was  ardently,  madly  in  love  with  the  girl;  she  had 
placed  herself  unreservedly  in  his  power;  and  yet  she  had 
been  held  as  safe  and  sacred  as  if  she  had  sought  sanctuary 
at  an  ancient  religious  shrine  instead  of  at  a  hatter's  shop 
in  New  Bond  Street.  He  thought  of  his  virtue  constantly, 
feeling  that  he  had  really  risen  to  great  heights,  and  that^ 
cost  him  what  it  might,  he  would  keep  on  the  lofty  plane. 
Indeed,  in  this  respect,  he  felt  so  artlessly  pleased  with 
himself,  that  when  at  last  he  went  up  to  London  to  meet 
them  all  he  was  ready  to  be  magnanimous  in  his  victory^ 
to  cry  quits,  to  let  bygones  be  bygones.  "  They  have  been 
lucky,"  he  thought,  "  to  have  to  deal  with  somebody  not 
only  genuinely  devoted  to  her,  but  a  true  gentleman  into 
the  bargain."  If  they  would  say  something  like  that  them- 
selves, he  would  shake  hands  with  them  and  all  might  be 
smiles  again. 


92  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

He  was  two  nights  in  London ;  and  Claire  had  now  be- 
come so  much  at  home  down  here  that  she  scarcely  missed 
him.  But  she  was  on  the  heath  cart-track  at  sunset  on 
the  evening  of  his  return,  waiting  for  the  little  ponj-cart 
in  which  a  farm-hand  was  driving  him  from  Brockenhurst 
Junction. 

He  jumped  down  gaily  from  the  cart,  and  as  they 
walked  on  side  by  side  he  told  her  all  the  news.  First  and 
foremost,  he  was  going  to  take  her  home  to  her  mother's 
house  to-morrow. 

"Roddy!  You  don't  mean  it?  You  ccmH  mean  that 
you  want  to  make  me  do  that." 

'^  Yes,  my  dearest,  it's  quite  all  right.  You  go  back  as 
my  affianced  bride,  and  as  such  you  will  be  treated  with  the 
respect  and  honour  due  to  you.  Oh,  I've  put  ray  foot  down 
on  the  old  nonsense,  and  they  won't  begin  that  game  again 
— treating  you  as  if  you  weren't  out  of  your  teens. 
They're  sending  the  announcement  of  our  engagement 
to  The  Tknes  and  Mommg  Post — and  I  shall  send  it  my- 
self to  the  Financial  News,  We're  to  be  married  as  soon 
as  you  can  get  your  trousseau."  And  he  ran  on  joyously. 
"  There  are  to  be  several  large  dinner-parties  to  introduce 
me  to  people.  It's  going  to  be  done  in  real  style.  You're 
going  to  have  a  slap-up  wedding — as  many  bridesmaids  as 
you  please ;  very  likely  a  bishop  there  to  turn  us  off.  You'll 
enjoy  it,  Claire." 

"  I  shall  hate  it.  Why  can't  we  be  married  quietly  here, 
as  you  intended.'* " 

"  For  all  sorts  of  reasons.  Now  trust  me — go  on  trust- 
ing me,  my  pretty  one.  Roddy  knows  his  way  about; 
Roddy  will  pull  you  through.  I've  a  letter  from  yonr 
naother  in  my  pocket.  She  sends  heaps  of  love,  and  im- 
plores you  to  fall  in  with  the  arrangements  she  is  making." 
And  his  voice  showed  the  satisfaction  that  he  felt.  "  I 
think  your  mother  and  I  are  going  to  get  on  very  well 
together.     She  called  me  Roddy  once,  and  asked  me  to 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  93 

tch  something  from  the  next  room.     Claire,  I  felt  quite 
1   uched.     It  showed  so  plainly  that  she  had  come  round. 
1  es,  the  entire  quarrel,  or  misunderstanding,  is  over ;  and 
ere^s  no  sense  in  not  being  friendly  with  one's  wife's  re- 
tions  if  one  can  be  so  without  loss  of  dignity.    That  old 
11  ow  Harpington  sang  a  very  different  song — but  I  do 
m  the  justice  of  admitting  that  he  was  always  courteous, 
a  id;  I  believe  he  really  took  to  me  from  the  beginning, 
'  1  here's  no  humbug  about  your  brother  John ;  he  has  his 
lu^ad  screwed  on  all  right.     He  doesn't  like  me,  not  as 
jzt;  but  we  shall  hit  it  off  later.     Master  Cyril  Is  just 
«-  cub,  and  Mrs.  Joyce  still  has  her  knife  into  me;  but 
ley  both  know  they  have  got  to  be  civil  for  the  future. 
'  uck  up,  Claire.     Don't  be  down  about  this  little  sep- 
aration.    It  won't  be  more  than  a  month,  all  told,  I  dare 
my — and  then,  think  of  it;  you  get  your  Roddy  and  I 
^»et  my  Claire.     Tum,  tum,  terrumtum  tum-tum,'*  and  he 
Immmed  the  Wedding  March  and  laughed.    "  Where  shall 
1  take  you  for  your  honeymoon.'^  " 
"  Bring  me  back  here." 

"  Oh,  no,  that  would  be  too  tame  and  flat.  We  have 
]  airly  exhausted  Do-nothing  Valley  and  Slack-ab^ttt  Hill. 
Paris!  I'll  take  you  to  Paris.  It's  ages  since  I've  been 
here.  Paris,  Claire — Longchamps  racecourse,  the  Bois 
.it  tea-time,  the  boulevards  by  lamplight  1"  AjmI  he 
laughed  again.  "  Later  in  the  day  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Roderick 
Yaughan  left  for  the  continent.  That  sounds  all  right,  eh.'* 
But  we'll  break  the  journey  at  Dover,  Claire." 

He  was  in  the  highest  good  spirits,  and  did  not  under- 
stand that  Claire's  lieart  had  grown  as  heavy  as  lead. 


CHAPTER  IX 

AMIDST  the  ordinary  traific  of  Sloane  Street,  and 
considerably  impeding  it,  cars  and  carriages  loaded 
'  with  bright  faces  and  gay-coloured  frocks,  with  silk 
hats  and  black  coats,  with  bouquets  and  streamers,  were 
slowly  approaching  the  church.  People  on  omnibuses  stood 
up  to  look.  "  See,  a  wedding.  A  grand  affair."  The 
invited  guests  were  filing  in  through  the  crowd  outside  the 
church,  and  the  red  carpet  was  hidden  in  the  press ;  police- 
men were  busy;  all  that  part  of  the  church  not  reserved 
and  guarded  with  red  ropes  was  thronged  already,  and 
still  more  uninvited  surged  in  by  side  doors.  A  verger 
at  one  of  these  doors  struggled  out,  saying  "Standing 
room  only ; "  and  of  a  sudden  the  other  side  door  was 
closed  and  bolted. 

"  They've  shut  the  other  door.  If  we  don't  get  in  this 
way  we  shan't  get  in  at  all.  .  .  .  Don't  push.  .  .  .  Take 
your  turn.  ...  I  beg  your  pardon,  I've  been  here  ten 
minutes  before  you."  The  desire  to  get  inside  before  it 
was  too  late  produced  something  like  frenzy  in  these  nurse- 
maids and  shopgirls,  who  had  arrived  on  the  scene  in  the 
beginning  gnerely  as  quiet  passers-by,  and  they  elbowed 
and  shoved  with  violence.  They  called  to  the  verger  for 
help,  asking  him  to  mind  their  perambulators  for  them 
or  take  charge  of  their  bonnet-boxes :  "  I  wonder  you  talk 
such  nonsense,"  said  the  verger,  perspiring  and  unable  to 
move  in  the  scrimmage.  "  Who  ever  heard  of  bringing 
perambulators  to  a  wedding?  " 

Inside  the  church  it  was  just  lovely — worth  all  the  heat 
and  tussle;  sunlight,  scent  of  flowers,  music;  rustling  of 
silk,  movement  of  feathers,  gauze  and  lace;  buzzing  as 
of  bees  in  a  glass  hive;  the  beautiful  dresses  passing  up 

94 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  95 

tie  aisle,  the  sleek  rather  Jewish-looking  groomsmen  es- 
(  orting  ladies  to  their  pews — everything  that  they  had 
«  ome  for,  hoped  for.  Only  they  would  have  liked  to  be 
]  earer  to  the  heart  of  it,  within  the  ropes,  in  the  inner 
<  ircle. 

Up  there  you  could  see  better,  and  hear  what  the  guests 
^^ere  saying.     The  guests  were  all  whispering  together, 

"They've  got  a  bishop,  haven't  they.?  What  bishop? 
'  ?he  one  that  married  Emily  Joyce.  He's  an  old  friend  of 
i  he  family,  .  .  .  Oh,  my  dear,  look.  On  your  right.  Did 
you  ever?  Painted  two  inches  thick,  and  sixty  if  she's  a 
(lay.  .  .  .  What's  the  name  of  the  best  man.  SchiUtzer? 
Jew,  isn't  he?  .  .  .  .1  don't  think  the  bridegroom's  friends 
ure  anything  to  write  home  about,  do  you?  And  so  fe'm 
of  them.  .  .  .  They  wanted  to  put  me  on  that  side,  but  I 
wasn't  taking  any.    I  said  *  Bride's  friend,  if  you  please.'  '* 

Roddy,  with  the  sunlight  full  upon  him,  with  his  face 
all  radiant,  and  himself  gorgeous  in  his  brand  new  clothes, 
stood  in  the  correct  position  by  the  chancel  steps  waiting 
for  the  bride.  He,  too,  had  noticed  the  emptiness  on  the 
bridegroom's  side* of  the  church,  and  it  was  he  who  told 
the  best  man  to  fill  those  unoccupied  pews  with  the  bride's 
people.  And  a  little  later  when  he  saw  that  they,  bound  by 
custom,  refused  to  sit  on  what  they  considered  their  wrong 
side,  he  issued  orders  to  move  up  the  vulgar,*  or  casual, 
congregation.     But  to  the  end  there  were  vacant  benches, 

Claire's  family  were  all  assembled.  Their  friends  from 
both  south  and  north  of  the  park  had  mustered  in  great 
force,  all  smiling  delightedly.  And  during  these  expectant 
moments,  while  everybody  waited  for  the  bride,  the  buzz  of 
whispering  talk  grew  louder,  as  of  bees  about  to  swarm. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  only  women  are  fond  of 
weddings ;  men  are  just  as  fond  of  them  really.  They  often 
make  a  fuss  about  going,  but  when  there  they  enjoy  them- 
selves quite  as  much  as  their  wives  and  sisters.  Indeed 
many  men  go  to  weddings  of  their  own  accord.  Timid  mei| 


^96  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

who  never  mean  to  get  married  go  in  the  same  way  that 
they  go  t*  the  Folies  Bergere  and  other  dangerous  places 
when  they  are  in  Paris,  because  it  gives  them  a  sensation 
that  they  are  playing  with  fire.  Hard-hearted  men  of 
business,  such  as  solicitors,  accountants,  land  agents,  and 
so  forth,  go  to  weddings  without  being  dragged  by  female 
relatives,  because  they  have  expanded  a  habit  that  started 
by  attending  funerals.  They  take  a  gloomy  interest  in 
observing  pretty  girls  and  substantial  young  matrons  who 
were  children  the  other  day,  or  the  robust,  overbearing 
man  with  whom  they  quarrelled,  now  white-haired  ajad 
beginning  to  grow  feeble.  Poor  relations,  however  rem©te, 
also  treat  weddings  as  seriously  as  funerals,  going  to  them 
from  vast  distances  and  never  missing  payment  of  "  this 
last  mark  of  respect." 

What  normal  men  and  women  ahke  enjoy  is  the  excite- 
ment of  a  wedding:  that  crowd  contagion  to  which  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  yield  oneself,  and  out  of  which  presently  arises 
a  new  vigour  of  individual  thought.  One  is  swayed  by 
the  unreasonable  emotion  all  round  one ;  a  lump  comes  into 
one's  throat ;  love  of  humanity  is  stirred  by  the  sight  of  so 
many  cheerful  faces ;  aspirations  for  the  good  of  the  uni- 
verse swell  upward  inside  one  because  so  many  bright 
young  eyes  are  flashing  with  hope.  Then  as  the  general 
excitement  wanes  a  more  definite  but  no  less  lively  medita- 
tion begins. 

And  it  was  so  now  at  the  wedding  of  Claire  and  Roddy. 
Everybody  was  thinking.  In  all  the  big  church  there  was 
not  a  soul  who  did  not  feel  stirred  and  strongly  affected. 
They  thought  of  the  sanctity  of  marriage,  the  loveliness 
cf  the  bond;  thinking  of  it,  some  of  them,  as  the  only 
beautiful  and  yet  unassailable  thing  left  to  us  in  England. 
Husbands,  bald  and  red  externally,  grew  young  and  tender 
inwardly  as  they  thought  of  the  day  when  they  stood  wait- 
ing by  stone  steps,  like  the  man  over  there.  Elderly  wives, 
(forgetting  the  agonies  caused  by  bad  temper  and  unskilled 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  97 

CO  cs,  remembered  only  the  nights  when  they  and  their 
lie  >mates  had  watched  and  prayed  by  a  sick  child's  bed. 
M  >.  Drysdale  furtively  touched  Mr.  Drysdale's  hand,  and 
M  \  Drysdale  acknowledged  the  pressure  with  an  ineffable 
sn  le.  Mothers  of  unmarried  girls,  those  innocent  girls 
th  nselves,  even  indurated  old  bachelors,  all  thought  with 
te  demess  of  happy  unions  and  hearts  that  from  long 
hfldt  beat  as  one.  Two  little  actresses,  friends  of  Cyril, 
w]i)  were  seated  just  inside  the  ropes  on  the  bride's  side, 
lo s  ;  their  terrible  self-consciousness,  ceased  to  look  at  them- 
se  res  in  tiny  gold-framed  mirrors  or  to  dab  their  aoses 
wi  I  h  the  powder  puffs  that  they  carried  in  their  lace  hand- 
kn 'chiefs.  They  began  to  feel  quite  small  and  insig^ 
Bif  cant.    After  all,  this  was  the  real  thing. 

Roddy  had  sprung  to  attention.  The  buzzing  was  like 
thit  of  bees  about  to  acclaim  their  queen.  The  bride's 
p:'3cession  was  coming  up  the  church,  and  all  heads  had 
ti  *ned. 

"How  ygung  she  looks!  .  .  .  Yes,  isn't  she  tall?  .  .  . 
So  white! '' 

She  was  arm  in  arm  with  Uncle  Derek,  who  looked  tri- 
Uinphant,  seeming  to  say,  "  What  did  I  tell  you?  A  little 
p  itience,  and  everything  comes  right  in  the  end.  Here 
W3  are;  and  could  anything  be  pleasanter  or  more  satis- 
ff.ctory? "  Following  them  came  little  pages  in  white 
satin  and  child  bridemaids,  with  coifs  on  their  golden  hair, 
who  seemed  to  symbolize  the  aim  and  hope  of  this  contract 
a  id  ceremony.  After  them  came  splendid  big  adult  brides- 
naids,  with  nice  skins  and  soft  eyes,  with  immense  ha,ts 
f  'om  Madame  Alcide,  and  rather  modest  little  bouquets, 
t  le  gift  of  the  bridegroom.  Presently,  when  the  proces- 
s  on  halted,  these  fine  big  young  women  hid  the  contracting 
parties  and  generally  obstructed  the  view. 

The  organ  stopped  playing;  instead  of  the  whispering 
t  lere  was  a  sudden  tense  hush,  as  on  a  racecourse  when 
t  le  flag  has  fallen  and  someone  has  shouted,  "  They're 


98  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

off!*'  The  solemnization  had  begun.  And  as  the  sonor- 
ous words  of  the  service,  so  familiar  but  still  so  grand, 
fell  upon  listening  ears,  all  the  thoughts  deepened. 

.  .  .  "  And  therefore  is  not  by  any  to  he  enterprised, 
nor  taken  in  hand,  unadvisedly,  lightly  or  wantonly.''^  .  .  . 
Uncle  Derek,  modestly  drawn  back  a  little  way,  beamed 
with  kindly  satisfaction.  ..."  First,  It  was  ordained 
for  the  procreation  of  children?^  .  .  .  Mrs.  Gilmour 
thought  of  her  family:  Lawrence  in  his  kilt;  Angela  the 
invalid,  now  gone :  Emily,  who  had  never  given  her  a  mo- 
ment's anxiety ;  and  Cyril,  of  whom  that  could  not  be  said 
— and  of  Claire,  too,  of  course.  It  was  a  great  rehef 
after  all  the  fuss  to  see  dear  Claire  being  settled  so  pleas- 
antly and  comfortably,  and  as  she  herself  had  wished. 
..."  Secondly,  It  was  ordained  for  a  remedy  against 
sin,^^  .    .  ; .  Cyril's  two  little  chorus  girls  nudged  each  other. 

"  Wilt  thou  have  this  Wovmn  to  thy  wedded  zdfe,^' — 
the  vows  were  to  be  spoken  now — "  to  live  together  after 
God^s  ordinance  in  the  holy  estate  of  Matrimony?  WUt 
thou  love  her,  comfort  her,  honour,  and  keep  her  in  sick- 
ness and  in  health;  and,  forsaking  all  other,  keep  thee 
only  unto  her,  so  long  as  ye  both  shall  Uvef  " 

That  queer  man  Evan  Giles,  the  writer,  actually 
groaned  aloud.  His  thoughts  had  wandered  far  away. 
But  the  thoughts  of  old  Sir  Kenelm  Grantley  were  very 
much  to  the  point.  Old  and  shaky  as  he  was,  he  had 
borne  his  disappointment  like  a  man;  making  no  com- 
plaints, sending  a  present  in  the  shape  of  a  large  cheque 
accompanied  by  a  very  sweet  letter  of  good  wishes.  He 
thought  now  with  sadness.  He  had  seen  her  grow  up, 
and  he  would  so  much  have  liked  to  watch  over  her  and 
cherish  her  while  she  blossomed  into  maturity.  He  had 
intended  to  be  very  gentle  with  her,  very  kind  and  gener- 
ous, and  never,  if  he  could  help  it,  either  intrusive  or 
obtrusive.  He  would  not  have  allowed  her  to  regret  her 
goodness  in  accepting  him.     But  it  was  not  to  be.     And 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  99 

he  cnew  of  no  one  else  at  the  moment  that  he  could  put 
in    he  place  of  the  late  Isabelle. 

*  Who  giveth  this  Woman  to  he  married  to  this  Man?  " 
l^mily  Joyce  and  one  or  two  others  thought  that  she 
hs  (  given  herself ;  but  Uncle  Derek  with  the  slightest  and 
m* )  it  courteous  of  gestures  indicated  to  the  bishop  and 
assistant  clergy  that  he  was  giving  her,  seeming  to  add 
in  jnspoken  words  that  now  and  always  he  was  without 
reserve  ready  to  do  anything  expected  of  him. 

' '  O  Eternal  God,  Creator  and  Preserver  of  all  man- 
Jcird,  Giver  of  all  spiritual  grace.   ..." 

Moddy  and  Claire  were  kneeling  now,  all  by  themselves, 
at  the  altar  rails,  and  the  sunshine  through  the  high 
southern  windows  poured  down  upon  them.  Quite  unex- 
pccitedly,  indeed  much  to  her  own  surprise,  Emily  Joyce 
began  to  cry.  Aunt  Agnes  had  been  quietly  weeping  for 
some  little  time,  but  as  if  she  liked  doing  it.  And  a  tear 
stole  down  the  nose  of  Mrs.  Gilmour,  as  she  went  on 
thinking  about  the  girl  that  she  had  always  neglected. 
Dear  Claire.  She  hoped  that  Claire  had  chosen  wisely. 
At  any  rate,  she,  her  mother,  had  taken  no  responsibility 
in  the  matter.  It  was  all  Claire's  doing.  In  the  words 
oi  the  adage,  Claire  had  made  her  bed  and  must  hence- 
fcrth  lie  on  it.  That  was  the  purport  of  everything  that 
had  been  said  throughout  the  ceremony. 

The  music  burst  forth  again;  the  choir  began  to  sing, 
ajid  the  women  in  the  church,  old  and  young,  ceased  to 
notice  the  bridegroom  at  all.  Their  hearts  were  vibrating 
w  ith  sympathy  for  the  white-veiled  kneeling  girl ;  deep, 
"WDmanly  instincts  moved  them  now  instead  of  mere 
tj  loughts,  and  their  wishes  were  as  fervent  as  prayers.  The 
Kusic  ceased;  the  song  was  over,  or  fading  into  breathless 
s  lence. 

"  Lordy  have  mercy  upon  us.'^ 

"  Christ,  have  mercy  upon  zis.^^ 

"  Lord,  have  Tuercy  upon  us,'* 


100  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

And  then  soon  the  bishop  said  a  few  words  to  the  newly- 
married  couple.  During  the  years  that  had  passed  since 
he  married  Emily  his  style  had  ripened.  He  dehvered 
what  all  felt  to  be  a  beautiful  impressive  address,  in  which 
the  priestly  and  paternal  manner  was  gracefully  blendedl 
with  the  intimate  tone  proper  to  a  very  old  friend  of  the 
family. 

"  You,  Claire,  who  come  from  a  home  of  loTe,"  he  began. 
And  he  went  on  to  say  how  she  could  not  fail  to  excel  in 
the  duties  of  a  wife,  because  of  the  advantages  she  had 
enjoyed  in  her  upbringing  and  training,  with  examples 
of  domestic  bliss  ever  before  her  eyes  to  study  and  imi- 
tate. 

"  And  you,  Roderick,  who  are  gallant  and  brave,  who 
have  travelled  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  and  fought  for  your 
native  land."  And  he  told  Roddy,  in  effect,  that  he  might 
find  it  a  bit  difficult  at  first,  but  he  would  very  soon  pick 
up  the  ways  of  a  perfect  husband. 

Mrs.  Gilmour  blew  her  nose  and  felt  extraordinarily 
contented  and  hopeful,  full  of  affection  for  dear  Claire, 
and  more  and  more  confident  that  things  had  worked  out 
for  the  best.  Why  should  not  Claire  be  happy?  She 
had  secured  the  man  of  her  choice;  and  after  her  mar- 
riage, as  she  knew  from  experience,  the  love  always  goes 
on  increasing.  The  knowledge  that  you  ought  to  be 
happy,  that  you  have  to  be  happy,  in  your  married  life, 
is  half  the  battle.  As  so  beautifully  and  forcibly  im- 
pressed upon  one  in  the  service  now  drawing  to  a  close,  you 
have  so  many  sacred  duties  to  perform  in  married  life 
that,  unless  you  are  fanciful,  you  have  not  tvms  to  be 
unhappy  even  though  it  lasts  till  death  puts  an  end  to 
it. 

The  married  couple  had  gone  into  the  vestry,  followed 
by  Mrs.  Gilmour,  Aunt  Agnes,  Uncle  Derek;  and  more 
and  more  people  were  being  fetched  to  sign  the  book. 
All  was  now  gaiety.    One  whispered  no  longer,  but  talked 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  101 

fy  ely  in  one's  natural  voice.  As  always,  it  was  said  by 
tl  se  not  invited  into  the  vestry  that  they  had  never 
k  >wn  such  a  long  wait  at  any  wedding.  Cyril  came 
d  v^n  the  church  and  sat  for  a  little  while  with  his  two 
C:  )ms  girls.  The  best  man  came  hurriedly  down  the 
c'  irch,  looking  pale  and  anxious,  as  though  somebody 
h  '  i  fallen  ill  and  he  was  in  search  of  a  doctor.  But  he 
w  s  only  making  sure  that  the  big  doors  at  the  bottom 

0  the  church  stood  wide  open  and  that  the  right  car 
w :  s  outside  them. 

Then,  next  moment,  the  organ  began  to  play  the  "  Wed- 
d  ig  March.''  The  triumphant  melody  filled  the  church, 
s  rring  deeper  chords  inside  one  than  as  yet  had  been 
t« )  iched,  making  the  stone  and  wood  and  iron  of  the  build- 
ii  ^  itself  vibrate.  And  in  the  midst  of  the  tremor,  the 
s  inlight,  and  the  beating  hearts,  the  happy  pair  swept 
pcst  and  out  through  the  big  doors. 

PeojJe  down  there  were  standing  on  the  pew  seats ; 
nursemaids  and  bonnet  girls  could  not  contain  them- 
s  }lves. 

"  Did  you  see  her  face.?  .  .  .  Did  you  see  how  it  lit  up? 
.  .  .  He^s  all  a  man,  mind  you.  .  .  .  Did  you  see  how 
he  looked  at  her.'^  .  .  .  Looked  as  if  he  could  eat  her, 
didn't  he.?" 

In  the  ugly  street  traffic  was  again  impeded;  the  crowd 
of  sightseers  overflowed  the  pavements ;  cars  and  carriages 
fall  of  bridesmaids,  dowagers,  bald-headed  gentlemen,  and 
f  owers  and  ribbons  and  silk  hats,  slowly  threaded  their 
\  ay  past  Cadogan  Place  and  round  the  comer  to  the 

1  irge  house  with  the  red  carpet  and  the  awning. 

Many  of  the  guests  walked  from  the  church  to  the 

1  ouse.     One  old  buster,  in  white  spats   and  pearl  grey 

trousers,  walking  with  several  other  men,  made  a  remark 

ihat  is  often  heard  on  these  auspicious  occasions.    \ 

"  Happy  is  the  bride  that  the  sun  shines  on." 

"  Exactly.     I  just  said  so  to  my  wife.     And  what  a 


102  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

pretty  bride.  Really  beautiful,  quite  ethereal — that's 
what  my  wife  said," 

"  What  I  don't  understand,"  said  a  tall  young  man,  "  is 
how  a  common  fellow  like  that  could  get  such  a  girl," 

"  Well,  my  dear  Everett,"  said  the  old  buster  philo- 
sophically, "  between  you  and  me  and  the  post,  girls  marry 
anybody  nowadays  because  they  treat  marriage  so  lightly. 
If  they  don't  like  it,  they  kick  over  the  traces.  Divorce 
is  made  so  easy  nowadays." 

«Is  it?" 

"  Yet,"  said  another  man,  "  they're  agitating  to  change 
the  law  and  make  it  easier." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  that'll  never  be  done,"  said  the  old  buster, 
as  they  turned  the  comer  and  came  in  sight  of  the  awn- 
ing. "  If  you  strike  at  the  institution  of  marriage  itself, 
well,  it's  all  up." 

"  Still,"  said  young  Mr.  Everett,  "  it  beats  me  how 
her  people  can  have  let  her  go  to  a  common  fellow  like 
that." 

"  Ssh,     Here  we  are," 

It  Was  all  over  now.  The  happy  pair  had  gone  away. 
They  were  alone  in  a  reserved  compartment  of  the  boat 
express.  London  had  dropped  behind  them ;  glaring  chalk, 
yellow  cornfields,  the  pleasant  Kentish  landscape  flashed 
past  the  windows;  and  the  train  gathering  speed  rocked 
and  swayed  a  little. 

"  You  darling  girl." 

Roddy  caressed  her  with  ardour,  made  her  sit  on  his 
knee,  pulling  her  about,  and  all  the  time  exulting.  "  You 
are  mine  now — my  very  own — till  death  us  do  part.  My 
property.  I  may  beat  you  with  a  stick  no  bigger  than 
my  little  finger."  And  he  began  to  take  such  liberties 
with  his  property  that  she  was  scared,  and  gave  a  little 
cry. 

"  Oh,  please  let  me  go." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  103 

.  le,  all  flushed,  and  seeming  to  her  of  a  sudden  changed 
ar(  ugly,  laughed  and  released  her.  "All  right;''  and 
he  )rought  out  a  cigarette,  lit  it,  and  puffed  at  it  rapidly. 
"  11  right,  my  pretty  one,  we'll  be  a  real  husband  and 
mil  by  to-morrow  morning." 

Lnd  even  then  she  did  not  know  what  he  meant.  Neither 
hcf  mother,  her  aunt,  nor  her  sister  had  enlightened  her. 
A  '  er  all,  no  one  had  explained  to  her  any  of  the  mysteries 
of  God's  holy  ordinance  into  which  she  had  entered  so 
trjstfully. 


CHAPTER  X 

FOR  the  next  month  or  two  they  were  "  dashing  about 
and  showing  themselves,"  a&  he  called  it. 

After  Paris  he  let  Trouville  see  them ;  and  after 
that  in  quick  succession  Homburg,  Baden,  the  Italian  lakes 
and  Venice  had  peeps  of  them.  Pope  the  maid,  as  well 
as  her  mistress,  felt  the  immense  change  of  this  life  of 
prompt  or  sudden  action  after  the  feeble,  procrastinating 
air  of  Mrs.  Gilmour's  establishment,  in  which  all  plans 
and  schemes,  even  when  they  seemed  red-hot,  soon  faded 
and  cooled  to  mere  subjects  for  future  discussion.  Pope 
was  always  packing  and  unpacking. 

In  October  she  opened  the  huge  boxes  on  a  round  of 
country  house  visits,  and  Roddy  for  the  first  time  found 
himself  in  really  good  society.  That  kind  old  fellow. 
Uncle  Derek,  had  used  all  his  social  influence  on  their  be- 
half, writing  to  the  chieftains  of  his  vast  clan  and  deli- 
cately intimating  that  he  would  accept  in  payment  of 
services  he  had  been  able  to  render  any  kindness  and  atten- 
tion offered  to  his  young  connections  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Vaughan.  "  Quite  big  pots  "  received  them  hospitably,  as 
Roddy  freely  owned  when  acknowledging  the  courtesy 
of  his  uncle  by  marriage. 

One  mansion  to  which  it  might  naturally  have  been 
expected  that  the  bridegroom  would  lead  his  bride  was  still 
closed  to  them.  He  had  duly  apprised  his  own  great 
uncle,  Sir  Roderick,  of  his  change  of  condition,  sending 
with  an  affectionate  letter  several  newspaper  cuttings 
that  gave  a  fine  account  of  the  wedding  itself;  but  to  the 
letter  Sir  Roderick  made  no  reply,  although  he  returned 
all  the  printed  matter  after  scrawling  thereon  in  his^ 
crabbed  old  hand  two  words  only :  "  Very  interesting,^* 

104 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  105 

"  Nev€r  mind,"  said  Roddy,  with  scarcely  shaken  op- 
timism. "  He'll  hear  about  us  before  long.  Then  he'll 
come  round  all  right." 

Before  the  end  of  November  they  were  established  at 
that  hotel  in  Piccadilly  which  Roddy  had  always  rever- 
enced as  a  very  temple  of  fashion,  prosperity,  and  suc- 
cess. They  were  here  only  pro  tern.,  of  course.  Already 
he  was  busy  at  his  work,  with  many  irons  in  the  fire,  and 
during  leisure  moments  looking  out  for  a  suitable  private 
residence. 

"  That,"  he  said  joviallj'^,  "  is  something  for  you  to  do, 
young  lady." 

She  was  ready  to  do  anything  he  told  her.  She  had 
given  herself  without  reservations,  and  every  hour  of  the 
day  some  mental  readjustment  was  necessary  to  enable 
her  to  keep  in  sympathy  with  him.  If  he  thought  differ- 
ently from  people  she  had  known  hitherto,  she  also  must 
think  differently. 

"  We  are  fashionable  folk,"  he  said  gaily.  "  I  heard 
some  one  make  the  remark,  as  I  was  following  you  through 
the  lounge,  '  There's  that  pretty  Mrs.  Vaughan.'  Of 
course,  any  ass  could  say  that,  but  it  means  you  are 
somehody-^^  He  urged  her  to  be  photographed  as  often 
as  possible,  was  delighted  when  reproductions  appeared 
in  illustrated  newspapers,  and  promised  to  have  her  por- 
trait painted  by  one  of  the  tip-top  men  in  time  for  next 
year's  Academy.  "  Mrs.  Roddy  Vaughan  is  going  to  be  a 
celebrity  before  I've  done  with  her." 

He  congratulated  himself  on  having  secured  a  conspic- 
uous table  in  the  dining-room,  and  explained  to  her  ex- 
actly why  he  was  so  pleased  about  it.  "  People  see  us 
here.  They  can't  avoid  it.  Strangers,  too,  ask  for  this 
table  and  the  answer  Carlos  gives  them  is,  '  Oh,  no,  per- 
manently reserved  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vaughan.'  Well,  by 
that  means  we  are  impressing  ourselves.  See.'*  Like  Pears' 
soap.     It  has  to  be  done  all  the  time  nowadays,  if  you 


106  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE     . 

mean  to  get  on.  Can't  hide  one's  light  under  a 
bushel." 

Sitting,  then,  at  the  special  table,  gorgeous  every  night 
in  his  white  waistcoat,  with  jewelled  buttons,  large  pearl 
studs,  and  formidably  stiff  shirt  front,  he  thoroughly  en- 
joyed himself.  He  liked  it  all — the  sight  of  the  men's 
shining  faces  and  the  women's  bare  shoulders ;  the  mingled 
perfume  of  powder  and  warm  food;  the  sound  of  knives 
and  forks  heard  through  the  music  of  the  band;  the  un- 
analyzed  general  sensation  of  being  crowded,  hurried,  and 
over-charged. 

He  nodded  at  all  his  acquaintance  and  gave  an  unflag- 
ging scrutiny  to  other  passers-by,  whispering  names  to 
Claire  and  keeping  her  well-informed. 

"  There  goes  the  Chilian  minister.  .  .  .  That's  the  Duke 
of  Danesbrough.  Second  time  he  has  dined  here  this 
week.  .  .  .  You  see,  they  all  come  here.  They  will  have 
the  best ;  and,  say,  what  you  may,  this  is  the  best.  .  .  . 
By  Jove,  there's  Evie  St.  Evremonde — ^with  another  big 
party.  You  know — acts  the  heroine  in  The  Girl  from 
Timbuctoo.^' 

Opposite  to  him  at  the  round  table,  with  the  china 
basket  of  fruit  and  the  half-emptied  bottle  of  champagne 
as  the  only  material  things  separating  them,  sat  his  beauti- 
ful, distinguished,  obedient  wife;  and  when  he  was  tired  of 
looking  at  other  people  it  was  always  a  pleasure  to  look 
at  her.  She  was  really  a  tip-topper — so  ran  his  contented 
thoughts:  No  two  ways  about  it.  She  had  risen  to  the 
occasion,  moreover,  in  such  an  admirable  style;  taking 
on  the  composure  and  dignity  proper  to  a  married  woman ; 
as  it  were,  bulking  large  if  not  solid  to  fit  the  wider  space 
in  the  universe  that  he  had  elbowed  and  pushed  out  for 
her.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  carried  things  off  as 
easily  as  if  she  had  been  his  wife  for  ten  years. 

And,  indeed,  Claire  had  grown  older  in  a  most  sur- 
prising manner.     It  was  not  that  her  pretty  complexion 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  107 

lad  altered,  or  that  if  you  had  put  her  in  a  weighing 
lachine  you  would  have  found  her  really  heavier,  but  all 
hat  was  childish  or  immature  in  her  aspect  had  gone 
itterly;  if  the  birdlike  tones  of  youth  still  sounded  in 
ler  voice,  they  were  within  a  narrower  compass  and  held 
trictly  under  control;  she  greeted  Roddy's  whispered 
okes  with  a  grave  and  tolerant  smile,  and  even  when  he 
limself  felt  that  he  was  at  his  funniest,  never  startled  the 
estaurant  by  one  of  those  bursts  of  rippling  laughter 
7hich  middle-aged  gentlemen  used  to  listen  for  at  her 
aother's  stately  dinner-parties. 

Beyond  these  obvious  and  natural  modifications  there 
vas  a  subtle,  inexplicable  change  in  her  that  only  Aunt 
.\gnes  had  observed;  and  even  she  was  not  sure  about  it. 
..\unt  Agnes,  seeing  her  so  incredibly  older,  graver,  and 
more  self-possessed  than  she  had  been  such  a  little  while 
ago,  had  a  disturbing,  fanciful  notion  that  Claire  was 
prematurely  old,  like  a  person  who  has  passed  through 
some  tremendous  and  abnormal  experience — railway  acci- 
dent, shipwreck,  siege  or  revolution — and  of  whom  one 
says,  "  She  is  all  right  now,  completely  recovered,  but  I 
don't  suppose  she  will  ever  be  really  quite  the  same 
again." 

At  last  Claire  found  a  house  near  Pont  Street  that 
Roddy  thought  would  do.  It  was  solidly  built,  in  imita- 
tion of  the  early  Georgian  style  of  architecture;  not  as 
big  a  house  as  he  wanted,  but  nevertheless  it  would  serve 
their  purpose  until  they  moved  into  something  better. 

Claire  was  delighted  by  the  prospect  of  having  a  home 
at  last.  Her  spirits  rose  at  the  mere  thought  of  escaping 
from  this  life  led  in  public  to  the  sound  of  a  string  band ; 
and  Roddy,  seeing  her  elation,  understood  its  cause  and 
praised  her  for  feeling  so  pleased. 

"  You  are  tired  of  pro  tern,  arrangements,"  he  said 
cheerily.  "  You  want  your  own  house.  Mind  you,  it  will 
be  your  very  own,  and  everything  in  it,  too."     He  said 


108      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

this  again  and  again,  explaining  that  the  home  is  the 
wife's  province ;  she  reigns  there  as  queen ;  and  the  hus- 
band's status  within  the  four  walls  of  home  is  only  that 
of  subject,  perpetual  visitor,  or  steward  and  purse- 
bearer. 

Claire  then  became  very  busy  in  regard  to  No.  9  Sedg- 
moor  Street,  the  new  province  of  which  she  was  to  be 
queen.  She  told  her  subject  exactly  how  she  proposed 
to  decorate  and  furnish  the  house.  In  her  mind's  eye 
she  could  see  it  finished  and  habitable,  rather  like  Aunt 
Agnes's  house  as  to  its  simplicity  and  avoidance  of  stereo- 
typed ornament,  but  with  many  characteristics  that  would 
be  individual  to  herself.  To  carry  out  her  whole  scheme 
might  prove  rather  expensive,  and  thinking  of  the  cost 
with  conscientious  scruples  she  had  a  brilliantly  happy 
idea.  Why  not  spend  the  money  that  had  come  to  her 
in  cheques  as  wedding  presents?  " 

"  Do  please,  please  let  me  do  it,  Roddy." 

He  had  taken  all  those  cheques  from  her — ^not  only  the 
big  ones  of  Sir  Kenelm  and  her  brother  John,  and  the  lesser 
ones  of  her  mother,  Aunt  Agnes,  the  Joyces,  but  also  the 
many  comparatively  small  ones  of  old  friends — so  that  he 
might  put  the  total  amount  on  deposit  at  the  bank;  ad- 
vising her  to  buy  herself  jewellery  later  on.  But,  as  she 
now  urged,  she  would  far  rather  spend  the  money  in  mak- 
ing the  house  just  what  she  wanted. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  he  said  laughing,  "  we  have  blown  all 
that  long  ago." 

She  did  not  understand  at  first ;  and  he  explained,  with 
slight  irritability  in  his  tone,  that  you  cannot  dash  about 
the  world  as  they  had  done  for  nothing,  and  that  he  had 
been  obliged  to  transfer  the  deposit  to  current  account 
before  their  honeymoon  was  over. 

After  a  long  and  thoughtful  pause  she  asked  him  to  say 
how  much  she  would  be  justified  in  spending  altogether. 
*^  Perhaps,  Roddy,  I  ought  to  give  up  some  of  my  fancies. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  109 

Yon  know,  the  black  and  white  pavement  in  the  hall,  and 
the  other  things  I  told  you  about." 

"  Well,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  I  don't  see  why  we  need 
stint  ourselves.  We  have  our  solid  income  of  three  thou- 
sand five  hundred,  and  all  /  make  into  the  bargain.  Pretty 
jseful,  eh?  No,  you  go  straight  ahead,  Claire.  Get  good 
value  for  your  outlay,  thafs  the  great  thing.  Don't  go 
ind  buy  a  lot  of  Wardour  Street  rubbish,  of  course.  But 
70U  won't  do  that.  You're  learned  about  furniture,  aren't 
70U?  " 

"  I  really  have  studied  it,  Roddy.  Aunt  Agnes  and  I 
iised  to  spend  days  at  the  South  Kensington  Museum." 

"  Right.    Then  you  go  straight  ahead." 

Claire  worked  hard  now,  and  in  a  businesslike  manner, 
getting  estimates  for  the  black  and  white  paving  and  the 
3ther  things,  and  haunting  sale-rooms  and  the  shops  of 
second-hand  dealers.  Roddy  laughed  gaily  at  her  labours 
and  anxieties. 

Then  one  evening  at  dinner,  before  the  estimates  were 
ready  to  be  submitted  to  him  for  approval,  he  told  her 
that  he  had  lifted  the  whole  burden  off  her  shoulders.  He 
had  called  in  Nappensols,  the  well-known  firm  of  decora- 
tors, to  do  the  whole  thing. 

For  a  little  while  she  could  say  nothing;  she  was  so 
surprised,  so  unutterably  disappointed.  Presently  she 
asked  in  what  manner  did  Messrs.  Nappensol  propose  to 
deal  with  the  house. 

"  My  dear  girl,  they're  at  the  top  of  the  tree.  They 
make  you  pay  for  it,  but  you  get  the  best  taste  in  Europe.'^ 

"  But  how  are  they  going  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  gave  them  carte  hlajiche"  And  he  stopped  eating, 
stared  at  her,  and  spoke  irritably.  "  Well,  what's 
the  matter.?^  I  try  to  please  you,  and  you  looTc  sulky 
about  it." 

"  Oh,  Roddy,  I  wish,  I  zdsh  you  had  left  it  to  me." 

Then  he  spoke  more  irritably  still.     "  My  dear  girl,  I 


110  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

couldn't  afford  to  go  on  fiddling  about  it  till  doomsday.  I 
have  my  work  to  do  in  the  world.'' 

She  stretched  her  hand  across  the  table  and  touched  his 
coat  sleeve,  whispering  apprehensively,  ^"  Roddy,  don't 
talk  so  loud.    People  can  hear  what  you  are  saying." 

"  I  don't  care  a  damn  if  they  can."  But  he  said  this  in 
a  lower  tone,  with  concentrated  energy.  Then  he  pushed 
his  plate  away.  "  You  have  spoilt  my  dinner !  "  and  he 
got  up,  and  stalked  out  of  the  restaurant. 

She  could  scarcely  believe  that  he  had  done  a  thing  so 
ungallant  as  to  leave  her  like  this,  alone  at  the  table,  in 
the  middle  of  the  public  room.  But  he  had  done  it.  She 
sat  there,  letting  the  waiters  bring  her  an  ice  and  biscuits, 
feeling  that  the  assiduous  Mr.  Carlos  knew  what  had  hap- 
pened, believing  that  guests  at  other  tables  looked  at  her 
with  awakened  curiosity  and  malicious  interest.  She 
stayed  there,  in  order  to  make  them  think  that  everything 
was  all  right.  The  blood  had  rushed  to  her  face;  but 
she  was  now  pale  again,  and  very  calm  outwardly. 

She  had  flushed  from  indignation  and  astonishment. 
People  don't  do  rude  things  like  that.  One  cannot  permit 
oneself  to  be  so  treated  without  putting  on  record  some 
expression  of  one's  resentment.  She  was  a  married  woman, 
not  a  child. 

And  then  slowly  there  fell  upon  her  the  sense  of  being 
abandoned.  All  protection  and  care  had  been  withdrawn 
from  her ;  she  was  alone,  surrounded  by  this  noisy,  inimical 
crowd ;  as  utterly  lost  and  helpless  as  a  little  girl  of  three 
or  four  who  finds  herself  left  on  the  platform  of  a  great 
railway  station. 

Literally  she  possessed  only  him ;  she  had  given  up 
everything  in  exchange  for  him.  And  now  he  had  spoken 
roughly  to  her,  was  quarrelling  with  her.  What  could  she 
do  if  he  failed  her?  It  would  not  be  as  in  the  old  days 
when  Nurse  Mitchell  disparaged  her,  when  Cyril  or  Emily 
nagged  at  her,  when  her  mother  did  not  seem  to  want 
her.     If  Roddy  failed  her,  the  whole  world  tumbled  to 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  111 

pieces.  She  felt  that  the  quarrel  must  be  ended  at  all 
costs,  now,  without  another  minute's  dangerous  delay. 
She  went  upstairs  determined  to  finish  it,  anyhow. 

But  he  had  gone  out.  Pope  said  that  he  came  for  his 
overcoat  and  crush  hat,  and  seemed  angry  because  a  white 
muffler  had  not  been  laid  there  ready  for  him. 

Claire  waited  for  him  in  the  sitting-room  among  his 
things :  those  signs  and  tokens  of  personal  possession  that 
had  obliterated  the  vapid  elegances  which  greeted  them 
on  their  first  arrival  in  the  room.  He  had  made  it  his, 
as  he  did  with  everything  that  he  touched.  The  gold  and 
enamel  of  the  writing-table  was  almost  entirely  hidden  by 
his  correspondence  files,  letter  trays,  and  handy  books  of 
reference ;  his  despatch  box  was  on  the  floor  by  his  table ; 
over  the  back  of  an  armchair  hung  the  gorgeous  smoking- 
jacket  or  dressing-gown  that  he  put  on  late  at  night  when 
he  smoked  a  pipe ;  the  Chelsea  shepherdesses  on  the  mantel 
shelf  appeared  to  be  dancing  round  a  monument  formed 
by  his  unopened  cigarette  boxes ;  and  a  faint  but  ineradica- 
ble odour  of  stale  tobacco  clung  to  the  muslin  and  brocade 
of  the  window  curtains.  There  was  nothing  of  Claire  in 
the  room,  except  herself. 

She  had  to  wait  a  long  time;  it  was  late  when  he  re- 
turned. 

"Well?     Sulking  still?'* 

"  Roddy,  I  don't  sulk,"  and  she  spoke  quite  as  a  child 
now,  with  a  tremor  in  her  reproachful  voice.  "  Why  are 
you  so  unkind  to  me  ?  " 

"  Unkind!  Isn't  it  all  the  other  way  round?  "  And  he 
burst  into  eloquent  self-vindication.  "  You  wounded  me 
to  the  quick,  Claire.  Teaching  me  manners !  Why  don't 
you  say  you're  ashamed  of  me  at  once?  It  amounts  to 
that." 

"Roddy!  How  can  you  say  such  things?"  She  had 
come  quite  close  to  him,  her  hands  against  his  breast,  her 
eyes  full  of  tears. 

But  he  went  on  vigorously,  showing  not  anger  now  but 


112  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

lacerated  pride.  ^  I  know  you're  superior  and  all  that. 
Very  likely  I  Juwe  no  taste,  and  am  poorly  educated — or 
cultivated,  as  you'd  put  it — compared  with  people  who 
have  been  idle  all  their  lives,  and  never  been  forced  to  earn 
their  daily  bread.  The  chances  of  improving  myself  have 
been  devilish  few,  but  I've  never  missed  one  of  them  if  I 
could  help  it.  I  dare  say  some  of  your  high  and  mighty 
friends  think  me  a  bounder.  But  one  expects  loyalty  from 
one's  wife," 

"  I  give  it  you,  Roddy.  I  am  loyal.  And  how  can  you 
belittle  yourself?  Of  course  no  one  ever  thought  anything 
of  the  kind." 

He  was  genuinely  suffering  in  his  injured  self-esteem. 
Remorse  filled  her  at  discovering  that  she  had  uncon- 
sciously hurt  him  far  more  than  he  had  hurt  her ;  and  she 
was  horror-stricken  as  he  echoed  the  dreadful  idea  that 
had  whispered  in  all  her  own  thoughts  of  him  during  the 
last  few  hours. 

They  made  it  up,  with  many  kisses.  In  a  minute  he 
was  gay  again.  He  bore  no  malice.  He  had  forgotten 
all  about  it  next  morning,  and  he  told  her  that  he  would 
try  to  take  her  to  Monte  Carlo  for  New  Year's  day. 

So  in  due  course  Claire  said  that  she  was  very  muxih 
pleased  with  the  ready-made  house,  and  betrayed  no  sign 
of  regret  that  the  house  of  her  dreams  had  vanished  for 
ever. 

The  work  of  Messrs.  Nappensol  might  well  have  been 
worse.  They  usfed  parquetry  instead  of  black  and  white 
pavement  for  the  hall,  hanging  above  it  a  lantern  so 
splendid  that  nobody  would  ask  to  what  period  it  be- 
longed or  whose  art  had  served  for  its  model ;  they  pro- 
vided a  green  watered  silk  boudoir  for  the  lady  and  an 
oak  parlour  for  the  gentleman,  and  were  lavish  in  their 
lighting  arrangements  throughout  the  reception  rooms — 
in  a  word,  they  made  the  house  exactly  like  a  dozen  other 
houses  that  they  were  doing  just  then,  either  for  the 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  113 

ne  ly  married  or  the  newly,  rich.  In  March  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Yi  ghan  were  established,  with  all  their  friends  praising 
th  house.  "  What  real  taste  you  have  shown.  Claire !  " 
SI     let  them  say  it. 

le  had  declared  that  he  expected  loyalty,  and  of  a 
tr  th  he  got  it.  She  astonished  people  by  her  knowl- 
e6.  e  of  his  enterprises.  At  a  dinner-party  given  in  their 
he  j  our  by  the  Drysdales  she  talked  so  learnedly  about  the 
N  1  rth  Sea  Domestic  Fisheries  and  other  recently  launched 
CO  ipanies  that  the  wives  of  two  stout  City  men  listened 
to  fier  with  admiration  and  envy.  Mrs.  Dry s dale,  sitting 
beide  her  on  a  sofa  after  dinner,  applauded  her,  squeezed 
hci  hand,  and  said  how  delightful  it  was  to  see  her  so 
hf  >py.  "You  deserved  it,  Claire.  But  it  is  a  great 
pize.  I  saw  him  look  at  you  during  dinner  almost  ex- 
actly as  my  dear  Frank  looks  at  me  sometimes.  There  is 
no  mistaking  that  look." 

^  She  loyally  wished  to  enter  into  and  understand  all 
tin  scheming  and  effort  that  made  up  the  greater  part  of 
his  life.  In  this  joint  affair  of  marriage  she  wanted  to  be 
useful,  and  not  merely  an  ornamental  partner.  She  was 
always  thinking  how  she  might  help  him,  and  with  this 
er  d  in  view  she  shrunk  from  no  toil  or  weariness. 

One  evening  when  they  had  dined  at  home  and  were 
sitting  in  the  green  boudoir,  he  found  on  her  desk  a  sheet 
ol  notepaper  covered  with  typewritten  sentences,  or  rather 
with  one  sentence  repeated  again  and  again :     "  /  mil 

awahe  Willie  as  we  call  Delia,    I  will  awake  Willie  " 

a  id  so  on,  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the  page. 

"  Claire!    What  in  the  name  of  reason  is  this?  " 

She  explained  that  it  was  a  three-finger  exercise  for  the 
1 7pewriter.  She  was  learning  to  typewrite,  and  to  do 
sliorthand,  too,  in  order  to  be  useful  to  him  now  and  then 
a  ter  office  hours. 

"Well,"  he  said,  laughing,  "I'll  put  you  to  the  tesH: 
E  DW.     Get  out  your  things." 

From  its  hiding-place  she  shyly  brought  a  light  folding 


114  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

apparatus,  and  sat  down  with  her  stenographer's  note- 
book open  on  her  knees.  "  You  know,  I  wanted  it  to  be 
a  surprise  for  you."  And  she  looked  up  at  him,  her  face 
animated  and  intent,  her  eyes  shining. 

"  Mr.  Roderick  Vaughan  presents  his  comphments  to  the 
Governor  of  the  Bank  of  England  and  begs  to  request 
that '* 

"  Not  quite  so  fast,  Roddy." 

He  stood  with  his  watch  in  his  hand  dictating  to  her. 
But  she  was  too  slow.  He  smiled  at  her,  and  told  her  to 
try  to  take  down  what  he  said  upon  the  machine  direct. 
She  obeyed  him,  sitting  in  front  of  her  typewriter  and 
clicking  with  nervous  vigour. 

"  There,"  and,  breathless  from  excitement  and  anxiety, 
she  handed  him  the  paper.  "  Remember,  Roddy,  I  don't 
profess  to  be  ready.  I  have  only  had  four  weeks* 
practice." 

He  looked  at  her  attempt.  "  Upon  my  word,  not  bad — > 
but  frankly,  not  good  enough.  I  couldn't  afford  to  send 
out  a  letter  done  like  that." 

She  pleaded  for  time.  Her  instructors  said  she  was 
making  good  progress.  It  would  be  so  useful  for  him  to 
have  a  typist  on  the  premises  to  give  aid  when  he  wanted 
things  done  in  a  hurry,  and  it  would  be  such  a  pleasure 
to  her. 

But  he  said  no.  "  No,  later  on,  I'll  have  a  lady  secre- 
tary. Honestly,  I  should  not  like  the  idea  of  my  wife 
typing.    Infra  dig.^^ 

«  Oh,  no." 

"  Yes,  I  place  my  wife  on  a  pedestal,  and  I  don't  want 
her  ever  to  come  down  from  it.  Besides,  you  have  more 
than  enough  to  do  to  run  the  house  properly.  That'll 
take  you  all  your  time." 

And  then  and  there  he  reeled  off  half  dozen  points  of 
domestic  management  at  No.  9  that  seemed  to  him  sus- 
ceptible of  improvement. 

"  Yes,  it's  personal  attention — the  mistress's   eye,  as 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  115 

m^  aunt  always  says — that  makes  the  wheels  run  smooth, 
wji  ther  in  a  hotel  or  a  private  house.  Especially,  don't 
foi  ^et  about  Barrett's  dirty  gloves  and  ice  daily  for  the 
bi  ter  dishes.  That's  something  to  keep  you  occupied  and 
al    in  your  own  department,  old  girl." 

Claire  humbly  promised  to  give  prompt  attention  to  all 
t\ A  se  matters. 

le  had  said  that  it  was  her  house,  and  at  first  she 
to(  k  pleasure  in  its  management;  but  little  by  little  he 
sj<  ilt  it  for  her,  extracting  the  joy  out  of  it,  leaving  only 
th(  worry  and  distress.  Nothing  was  her  own  really ;  noth- 
ing' that  she  herself  devised  or  ordered  was  allowed  to 
reriain  unchanged.  All  of  the  house  that  was  not  Nap- 
pe isol  was  Roddy, 

[t  was  he  who  dressed  the  footman,  the  chauffeur,  and 
t}(!  groom  in  liveries  of  a  quietness  so  splendid  that  it 
seemed  more  ostentatious  than  red  plush  and  white  silk. 
He  liked  to  get  the  motor-car  and  the  pony-cart  at  the 
front  door  together;  with  the  footman  standing  by,  Pope 
cconing  down  the  steps  to  carry  her  mistress's  wraps,  and 
the  butler  visible  on  the  threshold.  The  close  grouping  of 
sc  much  magnificence  cheered  him ;  but  then  the  sometime 
sergeant-major  asserted  himself,  and  he  held  an  inspec- 
tion of  all  present.  Then  it  was  that  he  sternly  opened 
the  chauffeur's  tool-case,  found  dust  in  the  pony's  hogged 
mane,  and  pointed  terribly  with  his  cane  at  the  groom's 
scaled  white  gloves.  If  only  he  could  have  refrained  from 
s]  leaking  to  the  servants  so  severely.  He  used  to  tell  her 
t(>  reprove  them;  but  then  he  could  not  wait  for  her  to  do 
it,  and  sent  an  insulting  message  to  be  carried  by  one 
to  another,  or  worse  still,  robbed  them  of  all  sense  of 
c  )mfort  and  security  by  descending  into  the  basement 
aid  there  exploding. 

That  was  how  he  lost  her  Mrs.  White,  a  really  good 
a  id  honest  cook.  One  of  Claire's  greatest  difficulties  with 
r  'gard  to  their  evening  meals  lay  in  the  precarious  nature 
o:  the  daily  fish  supply.     They  were  queer  consignments 


116  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

of  fish  that  his  wonderful  North  Sea  Company  sent  to 
them — twenty  soles  one  day,  two  whiting  the  next,  and 
then  perhaps  for  days  monsters  of  the  deep  that  no  one 
had  ever  seen  before.  Mrs.  White,  frightened  one  morn- 
ing by  the  arrival  of  such  sea-serpents,  and  not  in  the 
least  knowing  how  to  tackle  them,  summoned  Claire  to  the 
kitchen.     And  Roddy  went  instead. 

He  had  given  her  the  smartest  possible  pony  and  the 
daintiest  of  carts,  assuring  her  that  it  was  not  only  good 
for  her  health,  but  absolutely  "  the  correct  thing "  to 
be  seen  driving  every  morning  in  Hyde  Park.  He  said 
she  could  leave  the  cart  in  charge  of  Barrett,  her  groom, 
and  walk  about  with  friends.  The  more  she  showed  her- 
self, and  the  cart  too,  the  better  pleased  he  would  be. 
But  then  he  fancied  that  she  was  not  giving  the  pony 
sufficient  exercise;  so  he  took  to  driving  himself  to  the 
city  on  fine  mornings,  rattling  along  the  Embankment  in 
grand  style,  with  the  pony  stepping  out  as  though  the 
devil  was  behind  it.  Titularly  the  cart  remained  Claire's 
very  own ;  only  it  was  not  often  available  for  her  use.  But 
she  had  the  car,  of  course — when  Roddy  did  not  want 
that  too. 

They  themselves  were  giving  dinner-parties  now,  feasting 
the  people  who  had  feasted  them,  "  beginning  to  pay  cut- 
let for  cutlet,'*  as  Roddy  said;  but  after  a  little  while 
Claire  was  no  longer  allowed  to  choose  the  dishes  for  these 
repasts.  He  said  that  her  notion  of  a  menu  was  hopelessly 
on  the  light  side,  all  fal-lals;  not  so  much  as  a  saddle  of 
mutton  from  start  to  finish.  One  night  he  vowed  that 
she  had  made  him  positively  ashamed.  It  wasn't  a  dinner 
at  all.  And  after  that  painful  experience  he  gradually 
insisted  on  having  a  Lord  Mayor's  banquet  on  a  slightly 
smaller  scale;  getting  aid  from  a  famous  caterer,  and 
filling  the  hall  and  stairs  with  ponderous  hired  men  in 
white  waistcoats;  so  that  it  was  all  very  like  a  dinner- 
party at  Mrs.  Gilmour's,  or  the  Pirbrights',  or  anywhere 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  117 

els     in  that  old  world  of  convention,  habit,  and  routine 
whi  h  Claire  once  thought  she  had  done  with  for  ever. 

he  was  not  even  allowed  to  invite  her  friends,  not  her 
rei  friends.  Roddy  made  a  great  fuss  about  the  shabbi- 
ne  and  odd,  absent-minded  manners  of  Evan  Giles,  the 
wr  er,  and  said  that  it  was  not  good  enough  to  ask  such 
a  ;are-crow  to  meet  people  of  importance,  like  the  Earl 
of  Cirkstead,  the  Dowager  Countess  of  Pevensea  and  Sir 
El<  nezer  Pine.  When  Claire  gently  protested  that  dis- 
tir^^iiished  literary  men  are  not  judged  by  commonplace 
sti  idards,  and  that  nobody  minds  what  clothes  they  wear, 
he   >aid  it  was  all  rubbish. 

Besides,  Giles  was  never  really  distinguished.  He  was 
on  /second-class  at  the  best,  and  now  he's  simply  a  back 
nuiiber";  and  he  added  that  he  had  put  himself  to  the 
trouble  of  finding  out  the  true  status  of  Giles.  "  No, 
if  you  must  have  literary  men,  why  don't  you  ask  Mr. 
Rudyard  Kipling  or  Mr.  Thomas  Hardy,  the  recognized 
heads  of  the  profession?  I  bet  you'll  see  them  in  a  decent 
coat  and  a  properly  got-up  shirt." 

Sometimes  the  half -hour  immediately  after  the  termina- 
ti(n  of  a  dinner-party  was  difficult  to  get  through.  As. 
if  all  the  food  and  wine  had  suddenly  disagreed  with  him, 
he  inveighed  against  the  guests,  the  house  servants,  the 
hi]-ed  waiters,  everything.  Nothing  had  been  wrong 
re  illy;  but,  as  she  knew  or  guessed,  his  annoyance  was 
caused  by  some  failure  in  a  business  effort  of  his  during 
the  evening.  He  had  hoped  for  something  from  one  of 
th  e  guests,  had  failed  to  obtain  it,  and  was  disappointed. 

"  Dullest,  stupidest  crew  we  have  ever  had  here.  I  won- 
de  r  why  we  bothered  to  collect  such  a  gang  I  "  And  he 
di  1  not  spare  her  family,  if  any  member  of  it  had  been 
pi  esent. 

Claire  sat  with  compressed  lips,  gripping  the  arms  of 
h(  r  chair  just  as  she  used  to  sit  in  a  dentist's  chair  years 
a^'  t),  determined  not  to  cry  out  if  the  pain  inflicted  almost 


118  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

killed  her.  It  was  curiously  painful  to  hear  her  mother 
called  '^  the  old  woman,"  Cyril  "  the  cub,"  and  Emily  "  the 
full-blown  siren.'' 

Yet  a  few  minutes  ago  he  had  been  amiable,  gay,  debon- 
air. She  could  hear  his  genial  laughter  down  below  till 
the  doors  closed  on  the  last  guest.  Whatever  he  felt,  he 
could  be  pleasant  to  other  people,  could  hide  his  irritation. 
When  he  came  upstairs  again  she  looked  swiftly  at  his 
face  to  see  what  she  herself  had  to  expect. 

Why  was  he  so  irritable  with  her,  so  prompt  to  take 
umbrage,  so  dangerously  quick  to  misunderstand  the  sim- 
plest and  most  innocent  words? 

"  Oh,  damn  it,  I  can't  argue  with  you,  Claire." 

"  But  I'm  not  arguing,  Roddy.  I  only  asked  you  to^ 
explain  why -" 

"  I  might  explain  all  night  without  your  seeing  the 
point ;  "  and  he  had  a  gesture  of  weariness  and  discomfort. 
"  Damn  it  all,  I'm  tired." 

Once  her  eyes  flashed,  and  she  spoke  to  him  in  a  tone 
that  he  had  never  heard  before. 

"  Be  good  enough  not  to  swear  at  me,*Roddy.  I  don't 
like  it." 

"  Whsit?  High  and  mighty  again?  On  the  high  horse 
again  ?  "    And  he  scowled  at  her. 

She  was  submissive  in  a  moment.  At  all  costs,  no 
quarrel.  But  quarrels  were  becoming  more  difficult  to 
avoid. 

Yet  still  all  cited  the  successful  marriage,  the  idyllically 
happy  couple.  Mrs.  Gilmour,  grown  effusive  and  affec- 
tionate now  that  her  youngest  child  was  so  completely 
settled,  had  not  a  doubt  that  every  one  of  her  fervent 
prayers  had  been  granted.  It  was  only  for  extra  satis- 
faction that  she  sought  from  Claire  explicit  assurances 
of  her  bliss.  Quite  unnecessary,  these  repeated  assur- 
ances to  her  mother,  Emily  Joyce,  and  the  rest — the  dear 
girl's  contented  state  was  so  obvious. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  119 

-  fo  one  was  more  pleased  than  old  Derek  Harpington, 
be:  luse  he  felt  that  he  deserved  credit  for  his  handling 
of  nitial  difficulties.  The  sight  of  the  joyous  couple  was 
gi  c  teful  to  his  kindly  old  eyes.  No  matter  the  trouble  you 
tal  e  if  success  crowns  your  toil.  He  held  forth  about  it, 
be  mingly,  to  Mrs.  Gilmour  and  Mrs.  Joyce. 

*  The  danger  of  a  love  match,  in  my  experience,  is  that 
it  5  hould  prove  a  flash  in  the  pan.  No  danger  here,  how- 
eve  r.  There  is  not  only  the  ardent  affection,  and  so  forth, 
th:7  suit  each  other." 

And  he  went  on  to  tell  of  another  couple  who  did  not 
su- :  each  other.  It  was  a  case  that  was  giving  him  a  lot 
of  thought  and  worry ;  for  he  had  been  asked  by  relatives 
to  Intervene  and  see  what  he  could  do.  "  The  Granville 
Budleighs — their  names  are  no  secret."  This,  too,  had 
be2n  a  love  match.  Indeed,  the  young  man's  family  were 
much  against  it,  refusing  to  recognize  the  bride,  thinking 
her  eccentric;  but  now  all  were  good  friends.  Only  the 
two  led  a  cat-and-dog  life  together — seeming  to  get  on 
each  other's  nerves — going  for  each  other  in  a  most  em- 
barrassing way  before  strangers. 

"  Claire  knows  them.  Stayed  at  the  Pevenseas  with 
them,  and  I  have  talked  to  her  about  them.  I  think  I  must 
get  Claire's  help.  Perhaps  she  might  be  willing  to  have  one 
or  both  to  stay  with  her.  She  might  influence  the  lady, 
and  Roddy  could  say  a  word  in  season  to  the  gentleman. 
The  comfort  of  their  married  life  might  be  an  object- 
lesson  to  them." 

He  wound  up  by  saying  to  Emily :  "  They  even  surpass 
yc  u  and  Leonard.  For,"  he  added  playfully,  "  I  fancy  I 
h(  ve  heard  you  call  poor  Leonard  over  the  coals  rather 
si  arply." 

Emily  laughed.  "  Yes,  it's  all  right  so  far  with  Claire 
ai  d  Roddy,  But  I  sometimes  ask  myself  how  long  it  will 
lajt." 


CHAPTER  XI 

*'^  TT  TELL,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  "we  have  fairly 

^y^      outrun  him." 
^    ^      ''  What  do  you  mean,  Roddy?  " 

"  The  gentleman  in  blue.  The  constable,  my  dear. 
We've  outrun  him  so  completely  that  he  is  left  behind  out 
of  sight." 

They  were  alone  in  the  oak  parlour,  and  all  the  evening 
he  had  been  at  his  richly-carved  oak  table,  carrying  on 
a  sort  of  audit  of  their  affairs,  with  bank  books,  trades- 
men's books,  and  accounts  of  every  description  spread  out 
before  him. 

She  went  and  stood  by  him,  looking  down  over  his 
shoulder  at  those  red-covered  books  that  were  at  once  her 
care  and  torment. 

"  Do  you  think  we  are  spending  too  much  money  ?  " 
she  asked  disconsolately. 

Roddy  whistled  and  shrugged  his  big  shoulders.  "  That's 
a  rum  question  for  the  mistress  of  a  house  to  ask.  I 
should  have  thought  I  might  legitimately  put  the  question 
to  you.  Don't  you  trouble  to  know  how  we  stand  from 
week  to  week,  and  month  to  month  .^  " 

She  knew  nothing  really  about  the  general  state  of  their 
financial  position.  How  could  she  know.?  He  had  refused 
to  have  a  marriage  settlement,  carrying  everything  before 
him  both  with  the  family  and  the  family's  solicitors,  pre- 
tending that  he  was  acting  handsomely,  assuming  the 
grandest  and  most  magnanimous  airs.  So,  as  planned  by 
himself,  Claire's  income  was  paid  direct  into  a  joint  ac- 
count at  the  bank.  In  theory  she  could  draw  on  this  ac- 
count, and  indeed  had  been  given  a  cheque  book  for  the 
purpose ;  but  in  practice  she  found  it  better  not  to  use  the 

120 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  121 

•heque  book — at  any  rate  without  asking  his  permission 
irst. 

From  this  account  of  theirs  he  borrowed  large  sums  for 
)usiness  needs,  such  as  the  purchase  of  shares  to  quahfy 
lira  for  the  directorate  of  the  fish  company,  and  he  paid 
)ack  the  sums  when  and  how  he  could ;  he  was  always  pay- 
ng  money  in  and  drawing  it  out,  so  that  the  totals  on 
)oth  sides  of  the  pass  book  seemed  immense,  and  no  one 
ess  skilled  than  a  chartered  accountant  could  make  head 
)r  tail  of  it.  She  changed  her  investments  whenever  he 
idvised  her  to  do  so ;  she  did  whatever  he  told  her  to  da, 
iigning  anything  that  he  put  before  her. 

Now,  to-night,  he  was  terrible  in  regard  to  these  house- 
lold  expenses,  making  her  go  through  the  smallest  items 
with  him,  and  when  she  succeeded  in  defending  herself 
ibout  pennies,  suddenly  attacking  her  with  the  vast  array 
of  pounds. 

"  No,  Roddy,  not  (me  week,  two  weeks.  Don't  you 
remember  you  said  it  wasn't  convenient  to  give  me"  the 
cheque  that  Saturday,  and  everything  was  to  stand  over 
for  the  fortnight?" 

Roddy  tossed  away  the  tradesmen's  books  fretfully,  got 
up  and  moved  to  the  hearth-rug.  She  sat  down  again  and 
watched. liis  gloomy,  frowning  face. 

"  Well,  the  thing  tells  its  own  story,  doesn't  it  ?  You 
can't  get  away  from  plain  figures." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Claire,  in  great  distress.  "  I  do  try, 
Roddy,  I  have  tried  so  hard." 

"  Oh,  I  expect  it's  all  bad  management." 

"  It's  unkind  to  say  that." 

"  I'm  not  blaming  you.  You  were  never  taught  any- 
thing. Before  long  I'll  engage  a  regular  house- 
keeper." 

"Then  what  will  there  be  left  for  me  to  do?     If  you 

take  away  the  management  of  *the  house,  why "     Her 

voice  broke,  and  her  lips  trembled  pitepusly.      "  Roddy,  I 


122  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

should  be  shut  out  of  everything.  You  won't  let  me  help 
you  in  your  work." 

"  Nonsense.  You're  always  talking  of  helping  me  in 
petti-fogging  ways;  but  can't  you  see  that  the  greatest 
help  you  are  capable  of  giving  me — and  that  would  be  real 
help — is  to  support  my  position  in  the  world's  eye? 
Nothing  is  so  valuable  to  me  as  to  have  the  right  sort  of 
people  round  me.  Use  your  charms  and  fascinations  to 
make  the  big-wigs  fond  of  you,  and  then  for  the  sake  of 
pretty  little  Claire  they'll  take  an  interest  in  Master 
Roddy." 

And  he  laughed.  In  a  moment  the  gloom  had  gone 
and  he  was  jolly  and  gay.  He  brought  out  a  large  cigar, 
bit  the  end  off,  and  began  to  fill  the  room  with  smoke 
clouds. 

But  Claire  could  not  change  her  mood  so  rapidly.  She 
had  been  too  deeply  stirred  to  be  able  to  forget  the  serious- 
ness of  the  questions  he  had  raised. 

"If  we  are  living  beyond  our  means,  Roddy,  let  us  move 
into  a  smaller  house — and  have  fewer  servants." 

"  Oh,  no,  that  wouldn't  do  at  all ; "  and  he  spoke  in  a 
dignified,  lofty  style.  "  I  don't  choose  that  my  wife 
should  live  in  a  hole-and-corner  way.  You  may  be  con- 
tented to  take  a  back  seat,  but  I  wouldn't  be,  by  any 
manner  of  means."  Then,  as  he  walked  about  the  room 
puffing  at  his  cigar,  he  told  her  not  to  worry  her  head 
about  it  any  more.  He  had  not  intended  to  imply  that 
they  were  living  beyond  their  means.  Indeed,  that  was  a 
silly  expression,  inapplicable  to  their  case,  because  the 
means  at  their  disposal  would  always  be  increasing.  It 
was  only  what  they  called  in  the  city  a  tightness  that  re- 
quired tiding  over.  "  Pro  tern,  we  are  hard  up,  and  that's 
a  fact,  but  it  doesn't  amount  to  anything."  He  paused 
in  his  walk  and  stood  before  her  chair,  looking  down  at 
her  smilingly.  "  The  quickest  way  out  would  be  for  the 
family  to  come  to  the  rescue.     I  suggest  to  you,  my  ac- 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  123 

ive  little  helpmate,  that  you  should  go  round  to  Mrs. 
Jilmour  to-morrow  morning,  explain  to  her  exactly 
low " 

"  Oh,  Roddy,  don't  make  me  do  that."  The  distress  of 
Z!laire  was  greater  than  before;  she  looked  up  at  him  im- 
Dloringly.  "  No,  not  that.  Don't  force  me  to  ask 
nother." 

"Why  not?  She'd  rise  to  the  occasion  gladly,  I'm 
sure." 

"  Oh,  please  not." 

"  Well,  I  think  you  wrong  her.  But  you  feel  reluctance 
in  asking  her  ?  " 

"  Roddy,  I  couldn't." 

^*  All  right,"  and  he  strolled  away  again.  "  Not  an- 
other word.  That's  enough  for  me.  If  you  feel  you'd 
rather  not  do  it,  I  won't  ask  you  to." 

"  Thank  you,  Roddy." 

She  was  grateful  to  him  for  his  leniency  in  allowing  her 
to  escape  from  an  ordeal  that  her  natural  reticence,  pride, 
and  delicacy  of  sentiment  would  have  rendered  extra- 
ordinarily painful. 

He  had  laid  stress  on  the  advantages  that  one  can  de- 
rive from  being  surrounded  by  useful  friends,  and  perhaps 
he  was  already  discontented  with  the  lessening  warmth 
that  shone  in  the  faces  of  some  of  those  important  person- 
ages under  whose  roofs  they  had  stayed  last  autumn. 
These  great  folk  dined  once  at  least  at  No.  9  Sedgmoor 
Street,  but  few  of  them  dined  there  again ;  and,  what  was 
worse,  some  of  them  gave  parties — very  large  parties, 
indeed,  if  one  might  believe  what  the  newspapers  said — 
to  which  they  omitted  to  invite  the  Vaughans.  Perhaps 
they  thought  that  they  had  already  done  enough  for 
Derek  Harpington's  proteges,  or  they  may  have  been  a 
little  scared  by  the  financial  magnates  assembled  at 
Roddy's  generously  laden  board,  or  possibly  young  male 
relatives  bothered  them  with  echoes  of  that  never  properly 


124  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Answered  question,  "  Who  the  devil  is  Roddy  Vaughan  ?  " 
Be  all  this  as  it  may,  there  certainly  came  into  the  mind 
of  Uncle  Derek  a  iiotion  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vaughan 
needed  another  push  behind  to  keep  them  moving  up  the 
social  ladder,  and  with  this  aim  in  view  the  good-natured 
old  fellow  gave  a  dinner-party  in  their  honour  at 
Hurlingham. 

It  was  a  glorious  June  day.  In  the  fading  daylight, 
all  mellow,  warm,  and  beautiful,  their  highly  varnished  car 
carried  them  under  the  trees  and  along  the  drive  to  the 
club-house,  where  Roddy  sprang  out  with  sprightly  ease 
before  the  footman  could  get  round  to  open  the  door,  and 
gracefully  and  lovingly  assisted  Claire  to  descend  from 
her  well-cushioned  seat.  He  was  almost  overwhelmingly 
magnificent  in  his  morning-coat  of  a  just  perceptible  blue, 
his  primrose  coloured  waistcoat,  and  lavender  grey  trou- 
sers. The  primrose  tint  repeated  itself  in  the  upper  part 
of  his  patent  leather  boots;  that  shade  of  blue  on  his 
coat,  like  the  bloom  on  hot-house  grapes,  had  tempted  him 
i;o  wear  a  white  gardenia  in  the  button-hole ;  his  virginally 
new  silk  hat  flashed  in  the  slanting  rays  of  the  sun  when 
he  took  it  oif  and  showed  its  glittering  clean  lining.  And 
he  himself  was  radiant,  his  quick  eye  correctly  estimating 
the  weight  and  value  of  the  company  that  had  been  invited 
to  meet  him.  They  were  real  tip-toppers.  The  size  of 
the  elderly  ladies'  pearls  and  the  queer,  old-fashioned  gar- 
ments of  three  large  white-haired  men  told  one  at  a  glance 
what  they  were  without  waiting  to  hear  their  grand  names. 
Roddy's  smiles  and  bows  were  frank  and  easy;  and  as 
he  chatted  amiably  the  undercurrent  of  his  thoughts,  had 
he  troubled  to  find  words  for  them,  would  have  run :  "  Well, 
this  is  it.  Master  Roddy  has  got  there  at  last.  What 
a  lark  life  is !  There's  nothing  you  can't  have  if  you  make 
up  your  mind  that  you  mean  to  have  it.  Fancy  me — me, 
Roddy  Vaughan — ^how-de-doing  to  these  nobs,  with  that 
pretty  creature  over  there  as  his  wife,  with  his  car,  chauf- 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  125 

eur,  and  footman  round  the  corner  waiting  to  take  him 
ome  to  his  perfectly  appointed,  fashionably  situated 
^ondon  residence !  " 

Beyond  Derek's  more  exalted  guests  the  party  included 
Ar.  and  Mrs.  Granville  Budleigh,  that  unhappy  couple 
iho  could  not  hit  it  off  together,  and  a  handsome  but 
ery  meretricious  Mrs.  Kemptown.  The  other  ladies 
ooked  askant  at  her  arched  eyebrows  or  red  lips,  and  said 
onong  themselves — allowing  Claire  to  share  in  this  con- 
idence — that  Mr.  Harpington  ou^t  not  to  have  invited 
ler. 

Roddy  sat  next  to  her  at  dinner,  paid  her  great  at- 
;ention,  and  got  on  exceedingly  well  with  her.  Indeed, 
encouraged  by  a  too  facile  success,  and  beamed  upon  by 
Derek,  who  loved  to  see  people  enjoying  themselves,  he 
jecame  boisterous  in  the  mirth  that  he  provoked  for  and 
ihared  with  Mrs.  Kemptown.  She  herself  laughed  so 
.ihrilly  and  heartily  towards  the  end  of  the  repast  that 
others  fell  silent. 

"What's  the  jest.?"  asked  one  of  the  white-haired 
nobles  politely.  "  Mayn't  we  be  allowed  into  it  ?  If  it's 
as  good  as  it  seems,  it's  hard  luck  to  shut  us  all  out  of 
it." 

"  Certainly  not,"  screamed  Mrs.  Kemptown,  almost 
suffocating  from  laughter.  And  then,  recovering  a  little, 
she  called  to  Claire  merrily  across  the  table.  "  Mrs. 
Vaughan,  you  really  ought  to  keep  your  husband  in  order.'^ 
Roddy  negligently  brushed  up  his  moustache  with  his 
napkin,  and  although  his  eyes  twinkled  gaily  he  forced 
the  muscles  of  his  mouth  to  serious  rigidity.  He  knew 
that  it  is  bad  form  to  seem  too  much  amused  by  one's  own 
cleverness  or  wit. 

There  was  a  display  of  fireworks  in  the  gardens  after 
dinner,  and  instead  of  remaining  with  the  rest  of  Mr. 
Harpington's  party,  Roddy  and  Mrs.  Kemptown  sauntered 
away  through  the  crowd  and  were  seen  no  more.    They  had 


126  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

not  returned  when  the  party  broke  up.  All  the  world  was 
going  home,  and  still  they  were  lost.  Uncle  Derek  stood 
with  Claire  in  the  fast-emptying  hall  until  she  persuaded 
him  to  accept  a  lift  in  somebody's  car  and  not  trouble 
any  more  about  her.  After  that  she  stood  there  quite 
alone.  The  hall  was  empty  now;  lights  had  been  turned 
out  in  the  rooms  behind  her;  and  the  club  servants  were 
shutting  up  windows  and  locking  doors.  Then  at  last 
the  wanderers  came  through  the  darkness  across  the  gravel 
and  in  at  the  front  door. 

"  Good  gracious,"  said  Mrs.  Kemptown,  with  a  shrill 
affectation  of  alarm,  "has  everybody  gone?  But  how 
dreadful!  And  we  have  kept  you  waiting.  I  do  hope  you 
don't  mind." 

Whatever  indignation  Claire  felt,  she  showed  none- 
whatever.  She  was  calm,  quite  unruffled,  and  icily  polite 
to  Mrs.  Kemptown,  who  soon  began  to  laugh  again. 

"  This  husband  of  yours  is  really  too  beguiling  for 
words.  But  he  is  not  to  be  trusted.  He  lured  me  into 
confiding  myself  to  him  as  a  guide  round  the  polo  ground, 
and  he  has  positively  walked  me  off  my  feet." 

They  drove  her  home,  Roddy  refusing  to  let  down  one 
of  the  front  seats,  and  preferring  to  sit  between  the  two 
ladies.  And  he  and  Mrs.  Kemptown  were  very  merry  and 
bright,  keeping  things  up  till  they  parted. 

"  Top-hole  evening,"  he  declared,  when  they  had  dropped 
her  at  her  door,  a  nasty,  suspicious-looking  door  in  a  by- 
street near  Knightsbridge  barracks.  "  And  didn't  the 
old  boy  do  us  well,  Claire?  And  isn't  that  a  jolly  sort  of 
woman  ?  We  ought  to  cultivate  her.  .  .  .  Well,  don't  you 
agree  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Claire  quietly,  "  I  think  she  is  a  most  ob- 
jectionable sort  of  woman,  and  I  never  want  to  see  her 
again." 

Roddy  laughed  and  snapped  his  fingers  good-humoured- 
ly.     "  Well  done.     There  spoke  the  true  British  matron. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  127 

suppose  Lady  Merstham  and  the  others  set  you  against 
ler.  I  could  see  they  were  all  down  on  her.  But  you 
lustn't  believe  everything  you  hear — especially  about  any- 
»ne  as  good-looking  as  Mrs.  K." 

A  few  nights  after  this,  quite  late,  when  Claire  was 
•egretfully  closing  the  book  that  throughout  the  evening 
lad  held  her  entranced  in  all  his  intervals  of  silence,  he 
poke  to  her  of  the  dinner-party  that  they,  like  prompt 
ind  honest  debt-payers,  were  to  give  in  honour  of  Uncle 
Derek.  Claire  had  completed  the  list  of  invitations,  but 
low  Roddy  added  another  name  to  it. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Claire.  We  mustn't  be  too  dull 
md  humdrum  this  time.  We'll  have  that  jolly  Mrs.  Kemp- 
:own  to  liven  us  up." 

Perhaps  instinctively  Claire  had  known  that  this  pro- 
posal was  coming,  and  had  steadily  fortified  her  deter- 
mination to  contest  it.  At  any  rate,  she  stood  firm  now, 
and  spoke  in  a  tone  of  quiet  finality. 

"  No,  we  can't  ask  her,  Roddy." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  I  don't  care  to  have  her  here.  She  is  not  a 
proper  person  for  me  to  associate  with — and  I  won't  pre- 
tend to  other  people  that  I  don't  know  it." 

"  Oh,  hoity-toity,  what  ?  "  He  was  angry ;  but  he  tried 
to  laugh,  and  he  told  her  that  she  ought  not  to  be  so  quick 
to  sit  in  judgment.  Mrs.  Kemptown,  whatever  people 
said  or  thought,  was  probably  more  sinned  against  than 
sinning. 

Nevertheless  Claire  stood  firm.  She  could  not  now 
afford  to  quail  before  his  anger.  This  was  something  that 
she  would  not  allow.  If  it  was  in  any  way  her  home,  she 
must  maintain  her  right  to  decide,  at  least  with  regard 
to  those  of  her  own  sex,  what  people  should  enter  it  and 
what  people  should  be  excluded  from  it. 

But  then  he  told  her  in  explicit  words  that  she  was 
wrong. 


128      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Damn  it  all,  I'm  master  in  my  own  house ;  and  the 
sooner  you  understand  that  the  better." 

She  winced,  and  drew  back  and  stood  looking  at 
him. 

^'  If  that  is  true,  Roddy,  and  it  is  altogether  your 
house,  then  I  can't  live  in  it  if  the  master  of  the  house 
insults  me.  You  must  choose.  I — I'll  go — and  I  dare 
say  it  won't  be  difficult  to  persuade  Mrs.  Kemptown  to 
take  my  place./  She'll  be  a  better  manager  than  I  have 
been — you'll  understand  each  other  better — she  won't 
mind  when  you  swear  at  her.  She's  used  to  swearing,  no 
doubt." 

"  Rubbish.  Bosh.  Don't  talk  such  rot."  Claire's  as- 
pect as  well  as  her  words  had  surprised  him;  but  then 
his  anger  blazed  up  again.  "  No,  this  is  beyond  a  joke. 
I  don't  know  what's  come  to  you,  to-night."  He  was 
walking  about  the  room,  and  suddenly  he  paused  before 
her,  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  had  an  ugly  snigger. 
^'  I  thought  that  you,  at  least,  were  above  all  such  non- 
sense.    You  usen't  to  be  so  squeamish," 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  Mrs.  Kemptown  is  a  bit  emancipated  and 
ready  to  cock  a  snook  at  conventions,  wasn't  that  your 
idea,  too.'*    Not  only  for  married  women,  but  for " 

"  Stop,  please." 

But  he  went  on. 

"  Stop,"  she  said  again.  *'  Don't  say  something  you'll 
regret." 

But  still  he  went  on ;  telling  her  in  effect  that  it  ill  be- 
came her  to  judge  the  peccadilloes  of  others  harshly,  since 
her  own  conduct  had  been  so  little  circumspect.  "  You 
were  willing  enough  to  throw  your  cap  over  the  mill,  my 
dear,  when  you  came  to  me  so  gaily,  and  with  such  a 
deuced  little  temptation." 

"  As  long  as  you  live,  Roddy,  I'll  never  forgive  you 
for  saying  that." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  129 

•  le  went  out  of  the  room,  beneath  the  gorgeous  lantern, 
an    up  the  stairs.    He  hurried  after  her,  calling  to  her. 

Claire,  old  girl,  I'm  sorry.  You're  quite  right.  I 
ou  itn't  to  have  said  that.  But  you  nettled  me.  I  don't 
cai     two  pence  whether  Mrs.  K.  comes  or  not." 

laire  had  reached  the  door  of  her  bedroom,  and  she 
we  1 J  into  the  room  and  locked  the  door  behind  her. 

\  [essrs.  Nappensol  had  spared  no  pains  in  making  the 
ro(  n  worthy  of  their  flatteringly  trustful  client  and  the 
co: :  panion  with  whom  he  was  to  share  its  use. 

'rom  an  upholsterer's  point  of  view  the  best  bedroom 
is  :ne  of  the  most  important  rooms  in  a  house,  and  when 
it  is  being  prepared  for  a  newly  wedded  couple,  poetic 
sei  iment  as  well  as  trade  custom  calls  for  the  most  fas- 
tidious care.  The  vast  bed,  so  low  that  it  looked  even 
broader  than  it  was,  had  rich  brown  woodwork  with  mould- 
ing; 5  and  medallions  of  dull  gold;  above  the  head  of  it  there 
wa.^  a  canopy  or  opening  tent  of  silk  curtain,  with  an  enor- 
mcus  electric  lamp  in  the  apex  to  shine  down  upon  one 
liks  a  midnight  sun;  the  velvet  pile  carpet  was  so  thick 
that  no  footfall  could  sound  on  it,  and  double  windows 
prevented  disturbance  by  the  faintest  murmur  of  traffic 
if  one  wished  to  lie  late  of  a  morning.  The  material  of 
th  i  window  curtains  was  purple  silk,  spotted  with  golden 
bet.^s,  and  the  same  silk,  but  of  a  darker  tint,  filled  highly 
ornate  panels  on  the  walls.  And  in  all  places  throughout 
th*  room  where  Nappensols  had  not  put  the  chocolate 
wcodwork,  the  silk,  or  the  gold,  they  had  put  looking- 
glasses  ;  so  that  as  Claire  moved  restlessly  here  and  there 
shi  met  advancing  towards  her,  or  saw  passing  by  in 
s^^  ift  procession,  troops  of  the  white-faced  young  women 
wl  o  were  the  unsentient  reflections  of  her  agitated  and  un- 
happy  self. 

Pale,  but  with  a  small  patch  of  feverish  colour  coming 
ar  d  going  in  her  cheeks,  dry-eyed,  and  feeling  that  tears 


130  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

would  never  again  bring  exhaustion  or  relief,  she  stared 
at  the  many-headed  misery  that  surrounded  her,  that 
mimicked  and  mocked  her;  seeming  all  of  them  mutely  to 
ask  her  why  she  had  locked  them  up  in  this  carpeted,  cur- 
tained prison,  and  how  she  proposed  ever  to  get  them  safely 
out  again. 

There  was  no  way  out.  That  was  what  Evan  Giles,  the 
thinker,  had  told  her.  At  least,  no  way  out  that  she  would 
ever  find. 

Presently  she  sat  down  on  a  brown  and  gold  chair, 
bowed  her  head  to  avoid  the  accusing  company  in  the  mir- 
rors, and  herself  began  to  think  clearly  and  for  the  first 
time  of  the  utter  and  intolerable  fiasco  that  she  made  of 
her  life. 

She  thought  in  bitter  shame  of  all  that  she  had  done  as 
an  unmarried  girl — the  going  away  with  him,  the  unpar- 
donable imbecility  of  putting  herself  in  his  power,  and  her 
unquestioning  acceptance  of  the  equivocal  position  when 
he  delayed  the  marriage.  Instinct  should  have  saved  her 
from  so  compromising  herself,  even  if  intelligence  failed. 
But  that  he  should  revive  the  sting  of  such  memories  t  No 
one  with  a  grain  of  chivalry  in  his  nature  could  have  re- 
minded her.  Yet,  if  devoid  of  chivalry,  what  is  a  man? 
With  a  dreadful  lucidity  of  mental  vision  she  saw  and 
thought  about  the  life-companion  that  she  had  chosen  for 
herself. 

From  the  very  beginning  he  had  tricked  her  and  fooled 
her.  It  was  not  only  in  the  small  things  that  compose 
the  surface  of  life  they  were  utterly  unsuited  to  each  other. 
She  liked  calm  and  meditation;  he  liked  noise  and  the 
gaiety  that  stifles  thought.  She  loved  reading,  and  he 
never  opened  a  book — except  "  Who's  Who  "  or  the 
"  Telephone  Directory.''  He  had  pretended  to  be  fond  of 
music,  wrapt  in  apparent  ecstacy  while  she  played  Chopin 
to  him;  whereas  he  only  cared  really  for  the  music  of  a 
gramophone  or  a  rag-time  band.     But  beneath  the  sur- 


/ 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  131 

fa:  .'  lay  those  deep-flowing  hostilities  of  feeling  that  could 
nc    3r  mingle  and  run  smoothly  in  a  united  tide. 

•  )ften  when  he  insulted  her,  he  did  not  even  know  that 
he  bad  done  it.  She  was  old  in  worldly  wisdom  now — 
be  1  h  because  it  was  impossible  to  live  with  him  and  not 
ea;  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  evil  knowledge,  and  because 
of  information  imparted  in  those  country  houses  under 
th:  strange  law  which  governs  commonplace  people,  and 
ma  ies  them  tell  everything  to  a  married  woman,  however 
ycung.  She  knew,  then,  perfectly  well,  that  he  treated 
her  as  a  mistress  rather  than  a  wife;  liking  her  to  look 
sn  irt  and  draw  other  men's  eyes,  suggesting  an  alcoholic 
pi:k-me-up  if  she  was  sad,  telling  her  to  buy  herself  a 
nev^  hat  if  she  seemed  worried. 

!5he  thought  of  his  minor  faults — his  familiarity  with 
inferiors,  his  subservience  to  rank  or  wealth.  He  bullied 
servants  one  minute  and  cringed  to  any  insolently  rich 
Jew  the  next  minute.  He  "  made  pals  "  with  waiters  over 
a  protracted  and  expensive  meal,  and  then  astounded  them 
bj  his  meanness  when  the  time  came  to  give  them  their 
tijDS.  He  could  be  splendid  and  profuse  in  the  gratification 
of  his  own  desires,  and  yet  not  be  able  to  spend  a  penny 
to  alleviate  the  distress  of  others.  He  was  bound  by  no 
traditions  of  what  a  gentleman  can  do  and  cannot  do. 

That  he  took  her  money  as  a  right,  without  permission 
ai  d  without  thanks,  was  nothing;  indeed  in  the  fine  gen- 
erosity of  her  nature  she  would  never  have  noticed  or 
wondered;  but  that  he  should  dole  the  money  out  to  her 
a^^ain  with  a  hand  so  niggardly  that  it  did  not  supply 
her  immediate  needs  was  a  meanness  so  fantastically  vul- 
gar that  even  now,  when  she  had  grown  accustomed  to 
SI  ffering  by  it,  it  seemed  to  her  almost  incredible. 

And  she  remembered  their  interminable  honeymoon — 
h'  »w  she  had  been  shaken  to  her  very  soul  by  the  physical 
SI  rrender,  the  terrible  joyless  revelation  of  all  that  is 
ajiimal  and  unexpected  in  the  mystery  of  our  existence; 


132  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

then  the  broken,  the  shattered  state  of  mind  which  fol- 
lowed her  new  comprehension  that  she  must  make  the  far 
more  tremendous  spiritual  surrender  to  him.  He  was 
lord  of  her  mind  as  well  as  her  body,  and  she  had  des- 
perately striven  to  obliterate  the  thinking,  dreaming  crea- 
ture that  she  used  to  be.  But  all  this,  of  course,  he  could 
not  understand.  He  saw  no  struggle,  he  took  every  sub- 
mission as  his  right;  and  all  the  time,  while  they  trailed 
their  amours  half  across  Europe  through  the  rooms  of 
a  hundred  hotels,  he  allowed  her  nerves  no  respite  or 
peace.  Her  virginal  innocence  was  a  song  that  had  been 
sung;  something  that  had  been  very  pleasant  to  him, 
like  yesterday's  dinner,  or  the  bottle  of  champagne  at 
lunch  on  the  cross-chanjiel  steamer,  but  now  over  and 
done  with;  and  wanting  something  else,  he  sought  with  a 
cruel  persistence  to  awaken  and  stimulate  the  sensual 
cravings  that  he  believed  infallibly  to  exist  in  all  women, 
no  matter  what  their  names  or  social  status.  As  if  teach- 
ing her  to  drink  or  take  drugs,  he  enticed  her  to  snatch 
pleasure  from  what  she  knew  to  be  the  basest  sort  of 
degradation.  Only  love  could  justify  it;  and,  as  she 
thought  now,  there  was  no  love.  There  had  never  been 
any  real  love. 

Nevertheless  she  belonged  to  him.  Once  again  there 
was  movement  in  the  mirrors ;  her  white  face  haunted  her 
on  every  side.  She  thought  with  sick  longing  of  the  free- 
dom she  had  blindly  forfeited,  of  the  home  that  had 
seemed  so  easy  to  leave,  of  the  white  wall  and  books  and 
reading-lamp  in  the  room  that  was  truly  hers. 

She  had  locked  her  door  here,  but  she  had  no  right  to 
keep  it  locked.  Soon  she  must  open  it.  She  must  not 
wait  till  he  came  across  the  corridor  and  beat  on  its 
panels,  or  rattled  its  handle  noisily,  and  forced  her  to 
obey  "  In  the  name  of  the  Law."  She  must  open  the 
door;  she  must  consent  to  a  reconciliation  after  this  their 
first  real  quarrel. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  133 

'hey  made  it  up;  and  Roddy  quoted  poetry. 
'  For  we  fell  out,  my  wife  and  I,  and  kissed  again  with 
tea  s  '  .    .    .  Who  wrote  that,  Claire?     I  saw  it  in  The 
Ri   eree  last  Sunday,  and  the  lines  struck  me.    Very  good, 
ar   I'tthey?" 

1  lut  before  the  reconciliation  he  had  asserted  himself. 
H<'  said  the  one  thing  he  could  not  stand  was  high-and- 
mi  i  htiness.  He  had  had  too  much  of  it  in  the  past,  and 
he  lUuded  to  the  ancient  Yorkshire  baronet  and  the  cen- 
ter pt  with  which  her  relations  had  treated  his  own 
mc  her.  "  I  warn  you,  Claire,  high-and-mightiness  rubs 
me  the  wrong  way.  It  rouses  all  the  antagonism  in 
mc    .    ,    . 

As  to  Mrs.  K.,  how  can  you  be  jealous  of  such  a 
ri\Hl  as  that?  There's  nothing  you  could  say  against 
he:  that  I  Wouldn't  say  myself.  She's  just  an  old  painted 
ta-fc.     There!     Does  that  satisfy  you?   .    .    . 

'■  No,  my  little  wee  darling  Claire,  you  know  I  put  you 
in  a  class  all  by  yourself.  If  I  ever  even  look  at  anybody 
else,  it's  sheer  fun  and  frolicsomeness.  Nothing  more. 
When  I  hold  you  in  my  arms  like  this,  I  wouldn't  change 
places  with  King  Solomon — ^wha  had  a  thousand  wives 
to  choose  from,  didn't  he?  " 


CHAPTER  XII 

THEIR  life  went  on  as  before;  and  Claire  passed 
through  queer  mental  phases,  with  an  emotional 
instability  that  was  quite  new  to  her. 

There  were  hours  when  a  transient  thought  of  sadness 
brought  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  other  hours  in  the  same 
day  when  the  most  trifling  jokes  seized  upon  her  sense 
of  humour  and  amused  her  inordinately.  One  day  the 
smallest  effort  seemed  impossible  to  her;  the  next  day  she 
was  restless,  overflowing  with  nervous  energy,  pining  for 
free  movement  and  swift  change  of  scene. 

Sometimes  she  felt  a  sudden  return  of  tenderness  towards 
her  husband  and  an  inexplicable  leniency  for  his  failings. 
Whatever  poor  Roddy's  faults,  it  was  wrong  of  her  to 
recognize  them,  it  was  wicked  of  her  to  magnify  them. 
At  any  rate  he  was  brave  and  laborious.  He  was  fond 
of  her.  So  far  as  he  was  capable  of  affection  for  any 
living  creature  not  himself,  he  felt  affection  for  her.  She 
tried  to  think  of  all  the  things  to  his  credit  after  her 
terrible  survey  of  the  other  side  of  the  account.  As  praise- 
worthy qualities  should  be  considered  that  prompt  for- 
getfulness  of  snubs  and  rebuffs,  that  noisy  good-nature 
which  lasted  as  long  as  it  cost  him  nothing  or  there  was 
anything  to  be  gained  by  it,  that  jovial  joy  in  life  which 
made  every  holiday  seem  a  bank  holiday. 

She  preferred  unexpected   fantastic   requests   that  he 
could  not  possibly  comply  with.     Might  they  go  abroad, 
now,  without  waiting  for  the  end  of  the  London  season? 
At  least  would  he  take  her  to  that  Hampshire  farmhouse^ 
for  a  week's  rest?     It  would  do  them  both  good. 

As  he  explained,  he  would  be  unable  to  leave  his  work 
until  the  middle  of  August ;  but  to  gratify  her  whims  he 

134 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  135 

gav  her  two  or  three  Sundays,  on  which  they  went  for 
SOI    '  enormous  walks  over  the  Surrey  Downs. 

I  I  the  car  he  complained  rather  gloomily  that  he  was 
f oi  eiting  a  day's  golf.  Then,  however,  when  they  had 
ab;  idoned  the  car  and  were  fairly  in  the  open,  his  spirits 
ros  t  rapidly.  He  whistled  and  sang,  picked  bits  of  white 
hei  her  for  luck,  and  with  his  walking-stick  pretended  to 
shc(  t  at  all  the  birds  they  flushed,  whether  pheasants  or 
tor  1  tits. 

^'  Missed  him,  by  Jove,  Claire.  I'm  out  of  practice. 
Go:  him.     Right  and  left  that  time." 

And  Claire,  tramping  along  by  his  side,  drinking  in  the 
air  the  sunlight,  the  wide  map-like  view,  tried  to  recover 
thc.e  old  feelings  of  gay  comradeship  that  once  had  de- 
liglited  her. 

'•  Grand  idea  of  yours,  Claire,  this  day  out  in  the  wilds. 
It's  freshening  me  up  wonderfully." 

They  sat  on  a  mossy  bank  between  heath  and  meadow 
to  cat  the  luncheon  that  they  had  brought  with  them 
in  wallets  slung  over  their  shoulders,  and  he  talked  to 
her  of  bivouacs  in  South  Africa,  the  fascination  of  war, 
the  glamour  of  a  soldier's  life. 

''  Now  then,  fall  in."  He  stood  up,  and  stretched  him- 
sell .  "  Lord,  how  soft  I'm  getting !  Look  here ;  "  and 
he  showed  her  that  perspiration  had  soaked  right  through 
the  lining  and  stained  the  pearl-grey  felt  of  his  Homburg 
hai.  "Ready?  Then  quick — march.  Left,  right;  left, 
rig  it.    Swing  your  arms  and  step  out  Claire." 

She  walked  resolutely,  carrying  her  own  wallet,  never 
asking  him  to  slacken  his  pace  in  consideration  for  her 
lesser  stride,  refusing  the  support  of  his  arm  when  they 
cliiibed  steep  places;  but  on  the  last  of  these  excursions 
she  was  almost  dead-beat  by  the  time  that  they  came  down 
the  slopes  above  the  town  of  Guildford.  She  could  hardly 
fine,  strength  to  speak  while  she  sat  in  the  hotel  coffee- 
roc  m  sipping  a  cup  of  tea  and  watching  Roddy  devour  a 


136  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

triple  portion  of  grilled  ham  and  poached  eggs.  Her 
stiffened  knees  made  it  a  great  effort  to  pull  herself  up 
into  the  car  for  the  homeward  journey.  In  the  evening 
she  had  a  sort  of  heart  attack,  and  the  doctor  summoned 
hastily  by  Pope  told  her  that  she  must  not  exhaust  herself 
in  this  way. 

Roddy  was  attending  a  club  dinner !  so  he  heard  nothing 
of  the  fainting  fit.  He  did  not  appear  to  notice  that 
Claire  refrained  from  suggesting  any  further  Sunday 
rambles.  He  had  said  that  he  enjoyed  them;  but  he  pos- 
sibly thought  that  after  all  they  were  rather  foolish. 

Perhaps  because  of  the  reaction  after  that  excessive 
fatigue,  perhaps  for  other  reasons,  the  nervous  restless- 
ness as  well  as  the  strange  variability  of  mood  left  her, 
and  she  became  stoically  calm  in  regard  to  all  matters 
most  intimately  related  to  herself.  If  she  had  made  a 
mistake  the  less  she  thought  about  it  the  better.  When 
you  refuse  to  admit  failure  you  are  no  worse  off  than 
those  who  have  met  nothing  except  success.  But  by  a 
curious  chance  at  this  period,  while  she  was  endeavouring 
to  build  up  something  comfortable  if  not  solid  from  the 
ruin  of  her  girlish  hopes,  she  was  forced  to  consider  the 
circumstances  of  two  other  unfortunate  unions. 

As  well  as  Uncle  Derek,  that  well-known  figure  of  polite 
society,  the  bustling  and  energetic  Lady  Paramont,  had 
urged  her  to  speak  a  word  of  timely  advice  or  even  of 
reproof  to  Mrs.  Granville  Budleigh.  These  young  people 
were  getting  on  worse  than  ever;  life  with  them  was  an^ 
almost  continuous  squabble;  and,  as  they  could  not  keep 
their  differences  to  themselves,  but  often  prosecuted  them 
in  public,  Granville's  family  dreaded  the  ridicule  and  scan- 
dal that  such  outrageous  behaviour  tended  inevitably  to 
evoke. 

"  I  begin  to  think  it  is  her  fault  now,  not  his,''  said 
Lady  Paramont.  "  She  makes  him  wretched  by  the  light- 
ness of  her  conduct.     I  don't  mean  for  a  moment  that 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  137 

t!  ere's  anything  wrong.  But  knowing  Granville's  jealous 
t  nperament,  she  ought  not  to  indulge  in  anything  ap- 
j  caching  coquetry.  Instead  of  which  she  keeps  Gran- 
'\i  le  on  thorns  until  he  bursts  out  and  they  both  make  a 
s  me.  Derek  Harpington  says  you  were  at  the  Peven- 
s  is'  last  year  when  they  made  a  quite  disgraceful  scene, 
1 '  11  me,  now,  which  did  you  think  was  to  blame  ?  " 

Claire  evaded  Lady  Paramont's  question,  but  she  was 
o  liged  to  confess  that  the  scene  at  the  Pevenseas'  was 
d j/astating  for  its  spectators. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Lady  Paramont,  with  the  de- 
c  ive  amiably  implacable  tone  for  which  she  has  long  been 
ii  nous ;  "  and  they  made  absolute  idiots  of  themselves 
tl  i  other  night  at  Mrs.  Chaloner's  evening-party.  Really 
it  cannot  be  permitted  to  continue.  Why  on  earth  can't 
tl  ?y  behave  like  sensible  people?  They  possess  everything 
iri  the  world  to  make  them  happy.  She  has  now  no  cause 
tc  complain  of  his  relations.  I  am  sure  the  Ashburys  and 
all  of  us — Granville  Budleigh  is  my  cousin,  you  know — > 
w«?  have  all  done  an  immense  deal  for  her.  Then  why?  '* 
A  id  Lady  Paramont  fixed  Claire  with  her  searchingly 
acute  eye.  "  I  ask  you  why  does  she  do  it?  For  I  hon- 
estly believe  she  is  the  one  who  is  to  blame.  And  I  want 
ycu,  my  dear  Mrs.  Vaughan,  to  put  it  to  her,  and  very; 
st  ^aightly  too,  that  things  cannot  go  on  as  they  are." 

"  Oh,  Lady  Paramont,  I  couldn't  possibly." 

"  Why  not?  She  likes  you,  she  admires  you.  She  has 
said  so.  Derek  Harpington  believes  you  would  exercise 
great  influence.     Have  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with  her." 

And  Lady  Paramont  tacitly  refused  to  leave  No.  9 
Scdgmoor  Street  until  Claire  had  promised  that,  "  should' 
th  3  opportunity  occur,"  she  would  invite  Mrs.  Budleigh'si 
CO  ifidence. 

Eaid  Budleigh  herself  offered  the  opportunity  by  com- 
in  ^  to  see  Claire. 

^uite  apart  from  that  interest  which  she  felt  in  the 


138      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

destinies  of  all  other  people,  Claire  had  been  drawn  towards 
this  young  woman  at  the  very  beginning  of  their  acquaint- 
ance. Enid  had  dark  red  hair  and  large  blue  eyes;  and 
about  her  there  was  something  of  the  slumbering  volcano 
that  suggested  fire  and  force  even  in  the  midst  of  surface 
tranquillity.  If  you  had  never  seen  her  flash  out  at 
Granville,  you  would  still  have  known  that  the  volcanic 
reservoir  of  fire  was  there.  Reflections  of  it  glowed  in 
her  large  eyes  whenever  she  spoke  of  the  things  that  occu- 
pied her  during  the  eccentric  stage  of  her  career  which 
had  made  Granville's  family  at  first  so  shy  of  her. 

She  spoke  now,  and  very  enthusiastically,  of  those  past 
days ;  adding,  with  a  sigh  of  regret,  "  Yes,  I  gave  up  all 
that  for  Jack.  Of  course,  he  did  not  tell  me  that  he  was 
the  most  irritating  man  alive." 

Then,  diffidently,  Claire  insinuated  a  word  or  two  in 
favour  of  Jack. 

"  Till  you  live  with  a  man,"  said  Enid,  "  you  never  know 
what  he  is  like." 

This  truism  struck  Claire  with  such  force  that  she  be- 
came  silent  for  a  few  moments.  Then  she  went  on  to  hint 
that  perhaps  her  friend  was  a  little  hard  on  Jack. 

In  reply  Enid  Budleigh  said  some  very  strange  things. 

"  If  Jack  ever  played  the  fool  I  should  chuck  him.  He 
knows  that." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Budleigh,  you  speak  as  if  it  would  be 
possible  for  you  to  leave  him  and  to  make  him  let  you 
go.     It  isn't,  is  it.^" 

Mrs.  Budleigh  smiled  enigmatically.  "  I  might  give 
him  no  choice." 

"  Do  you  mean  you  would  not  shrink  from  going 
through  the  divorce  court?" 

Mrs.  Budleigh  leaned  back  her  head,  and  laughed  as  if 
much  amused.  "Don't  you  worry  about  us,  Mrs.  Vaughan 
— ^but  it's  awfully  kind  of  you.  Jack  and  I  are  real  pals, 
though  we  sometimes  chip  each  other."     And  looking  at 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  139 

lire  with  a  whimsical  expression,  she  said :  "  I  suppose 
1  have  heard  people  talking  about  us.     I  know  they  do 


k — and  it's  all  the  fault  of  Jack's  stupid  relations.    His 

ations  had  much  better  leave  us  alone.  It's  the  greatest 
n   5take  to  interfere  with  people.'* 

That  was  the  case  of  Enid  and  Granville :  baffling,  enig- 
n   iic,  and  not  to  be  taken  too  seriously. 

The  other  case  concerned  Claire  much  more  nearly, 
sii  ce  it  related  to  the  domestic  affairs  of  Barrett  the 
g  3om  and  Thompson  the  chauffeur.  One  day,  while  the 
c  iir  stood  waiting  outside  the  house,  these  two,  egged  on 
b  .  the  other  servants,  had  an  altercation  which  would 
h  I  ve  ended  in  a  fight  but  for  the  timely  arrival  of  a  police- 
n;in,  who  took  everybody's  name  and  address  and  prom- 
ised to  call  upon  Mr.  Vaughan  in  the  evening. 

Pope  and  the  others  were  only  too  eager  to  explain  fhe 
cause  of  *'  the  unpleasantness  "  and  to  congratulate  Claire 
0.1  its  having  come  to  a  head.  Till  now,  as  they  explained, 
their  tongues  had  been  tied;  but  now  at  last  they  could 
s])8ak.  The  chauffeur  some  time  ago  had  gone  to  lodge 
with  Barrett  and  his  wife — always  a  doubtful,  risky  ar- 
rangement— and  of  late  the  preference  of  the  landlady 
for  the  lodger  had  been  the  talk  of  the  whole  mews.  They 
carried  on  anyhow.  And  naturally  one  wondered  why 
Barrett  put  up  with  It  and  when  it  was  going  to  be- 
st opped. 

Claire  was  shocked  and  distressed.  On  paying  visits  to 
tlie  mews  with  sugar  for  the  pony  she  had  seen  Mrs.  Bar- 
r(tt,  a  clean,  nice-looking  young  woman;  had  noticed,  too, 
the  tidy  aspect  of  the  sitting-room  with  its  white  curtains 
a  id  geranium  plants  and  well-swept  hearth ;  had  even 
c.iught  a  glimpse  of  the  chauffeur  seated  at  table  enjoying 
t]:e  comfortable  mid-day  meal  provided  by  Mrs.  Barrett. 
I  was  upsetting  to  learn  of  guilty  secrets  beneath  this 
f <  ir  exterior. 

Moreover,  she  was  attached  to  the  injured  husband  for 


140      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

sentimental  reasons.  Barrett  belonged  to  her  past;  he 
had  been  helper  at  Mrs.  Gilmour's  stables. 

"  What  is  to  be  done.?  "  she  asked  Roddy,  after  he  had 
investigated  the  matter. 

"  Well,"  said  Roddy,  "  we  can't  let  them  go  on  living 
in  open  sin.  It  isn't  respectable.  No,  one  of  them  has 
to  go;  and  as  Thompson  is  much  the  most  useful  of  the 
two,  it  must  be  Barrett." 

«0h,  Roddy!" 

"  A  good  chauffeur  is  a  rare  bird  nowadays.  Whereas 
you've  only  to  whistle  to  find  half-a-dozen  smarter-looking 
grooms  than  Barrett.  If  you  are  thinking  of  the 
pony " 

But  Claire  was  not  thinking  of  the  pony;  she  was 
thinking  of  the  man.  It  seemed  to  her  more  than  unkind, 
really  wrong,  to  dismiss  the  innocent  Barrett  and  retain 
the  guilty  Thompson. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Roddy.  "  Barrett's  a  sen- 
sible chap.  When  I  gave  him  notice  he  said  he  quite 
understood." 

Next  day  Claire  had  an  interview  with  Barrett,  told 
him  how  sorry  she  felt  for  him,  and  talked  about  his 
future.  He  was  young,  as  she  reminded  him;  when  the 
law  had  set  him  free  he  might  marry  again ;  and,  getting 
a  better  wife,  be  quite  happy  in  the  end.  But  Barrett  sur- 
prised her  by  replying  that  he  would  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  law. 

"  You're  very  kind  to  think  of  it,  ma'am,"  said  Barrett, 
with  his  well-remembered  husky  voice  and  grateful  smile. 
^'  But  I  shan't  go  and  make  a  worse  fool  of  meself  than 
what  she's  made  of  me  a'ready.  She's  took  her  choice. 
Well,  so  be  it.     No  law  for  me." 

"  But,  Barrett,  if  you  don't  get  a  divorce,  you  can 
never  m.arry." 

"  I  know  that,  ma'am,  and  I  shan't  practice  any  de- 
ception.    If  I  should  meet  a  girl  that  I  took  to,  if  she 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  141 

t  lok  to  me,  I  should  just  tell  her  the  facts,  precisely  how 

m  situated."    And  Barrett  cleared  his  throat.     "  If  she 

asn't  for  it  without  her  marriage  lin^s,  well,  she  could 

ave  it  alone.     You'll  excuse  me  speaking  so  open." 

"  Oh,  yes."     Claire  had  flushed  sUghtly,  but  she  drove 

.   vsLj  all  false  delicacy.    She  was  interested  in  Barrett,  and 

.  le  wanted  to  help  him.     "  But  suppose  you  did  that, 

.:  arrett,  and  you  had  children,  they — they  would  be  ille- 

^;  timate." 

"  Well,  they  wouldn't  be  the  only  ones.    They  must  take 
i  leir  chance  of  it." 

"  Really,  Barrett,  I  think  you  ought  to  get  a  divorce." 
"  And  how  d'you  suppose  I'm  to  get  it,  ma'am .^^  They 
r:en't  given  away — far  from  it."  Having  cleared  his 
iliroat  again,  he  spoke  loudly  and  with  strong  feeling. 
'•  It's  very  kind,  but  you  don't  understand,  ma'am.  Di- 
vorce is  for  the  upper  classes,  not  for  our  sort.  Suppose 
1  put  meself  in  a  lawyer's  clutches  over  it,  why,  he'd  take 
t^ery  bob  out  of  me  what  I  could  earn  for  ten  years,  and 
then  he  wouldn't  do  it.  Laugh  at  me,  too,  if  I  asked  him 
^  here  all  my  money  had  gone.  Who  is  it  gets  divorces? 
If  you  read  the  papers  you'll  see — people  as  can  afford  it. 
I  don't  say  if  Jessie  had  bin  got  hold  of  by  some  rich 
gentleman  like  Mr.  Vaughan  or  Mr.  Cyril,  and  there  was 
the  prospect  of  damages,  but  what  the  lawyers  would  do 
i:  for  me  in  such  circumstances  as  that.  But  how  much 
camage  is  Thompson  going  to  pay.'*  '  Take  it  out  of  me 
v'ith  your  fists,'  would  be  his  answer.  And  so  I  would 
too,"  said  Barrett,  with  a  lurid  glow,  "  on'y  that  would 
le  punishing  Jessie  as  much  as  him.  .  .  .  Thank  you, 
iia'am,  all  the  same." 

"  I  must  think  aibout  it,  Barrett.     I  don't  like  letting 
3  ou  go  with  nothing  done  to  put  things  straight  for  you.'* 
And  thinking  about  it,  she  asked  Roddy  how  much  a 
( ivorce  for  Barrett  would  really  cost. 

"  Fifty  pounds.    A  hundred.    Even  more,  I  dare  say." 


142  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Not  more  than  that !  "  And  she  asked  Roddy  if  they 
could  not  pay  this  amount  for  Barrett  themselves. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Roddy,  almost  shouting.  "  Chuck  away 
a  hundred  pounds?  Do  you  suppose  hundreds  grow  on 
every  bush  like  berries  or  flutter  down  at  my  feet  like 
leaves  as  I  go  to  the  City?    But  you're  joking,  of  course? '' 

"  No,  I'm  not  joking,  Roddy.  It  seems  so  dreadful  to 
let  the  whole  thing  slide."  And  she  told  him  the  things 
that  Barrett  had  said. 

"  And  there's  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  that,"  said  Roddy. 
^*  Yes,  that's  the  poor  man's  grievance  against  the  law. 
Devilish  hard  luck,  it  seems.  I  quite  agree.  But  we  can't 
help  it.     It's  not  our  fault.     They'll  amend  the  law,  no 

doubt,  one  of  these  days.     Meantime "     And  Roddy 

yawned,  and  presently  began  to  talk  of  something 
else. 

For  a  day  or  two  Claire  worried  herself  greatly  about 
this  poignant  drama  of  humble  life ;  it  filled  her  mind  with 
painful  thoughts.  She  must  do  something  to  remove  diffi- 
culties from  Barrett's  future  career,  to  prevent  little  inno- 
cent children  from  being  born  with  the  stigma  of  illegiti- 
macy. It  would  be  easy  to  raise  a  hundred  pounds  by 
the  sale  of  a  few  trinkets ;  and  she  had  determined  to  brave 
Roddy's  displeasure  and  seek  advice  from  Messrs.  Collie, 
her  family's  solicitors,  when  she  found  that  Barrett  had 
cut  the  ground  from  under  everybody's  feet  by  sailing 
for  Canada.  She  received  this  intelligence  from  Mrs.  Bar- 
rett, at  the  mews,  as  she  approached  her  pony's  stall  with 
a  lump  of  sugar  in  her  hand. 

The  pony  had  gone  too — not  to  Canada  but  to  Roe- 
hampton.  Mr.  Vaughan  had  been  round  with  the  gentle- 
man, and  they  had  made  a  lot  of  fun  together  over  the 
sale  of  the  pony,  "  chaffing  like." 

"  But  Mr.  Vaughan  told  Thompson  he  got  the  price 
he  asked  from  the  beginning." 

Mrs.  Barrett,  giving  all  this  information,  was  neat  and 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  143 

c]  ;an-looking  as  ever,  quite  unruffled  in  manner  by  con- 
s  ousness  of  the  recent  unpleasant  events.  Through  an 
c  en  doorway  Claire  had  a  glimpse  of  Thompson  just  sit- 
t !  ig  down  to  his  carefully  prepared  repast ;  the  lodger, 
i  1  e  cuckoo  in  the  nest,  the  unabashed  and  triumphant  pos- 
s  ssor  of  all  that  did  not  belong  to  him.  - 

Claire  went  away  feeling  helpless  and  disgusted. 

Lassitude  fell  upon  her.  The  season  was  now  over; 
il  ere  were  no  more  parties  or  entertainments;  she  often 
escaped  even  the  trouble  of  ordering  dinner,  for  Roddy 
^  nerally  dined  at  his  club.  Invitations  to  country  houses 
1  id  not  so  far  arrived,  no  plans  for  holidays  had  been 
nade;  although  Roddy  had  talked  of  Italy,  Greece,  and 
1]  eland.  But  Claire  did  not  remind  him.  All  desire  for 
I  movement,  travel,  adventure  had  faded.  She  wanted  quiet ; 
she  wanted  peace. 

She  would  become  so  much  absorbed  in  a  book  as  to 
forget  time,  herself,  the  whole  world  of  reality;  this  fic- 
tion was  all  that  mattered;  the  joy  or  grief  of  these 
imagined  personages  alone  concerned  her.  Then  in  a  mo- 
laent  the  illusion  was  gone ;  she  sent  the  book  back  to  the 
library  without  troubling  to  finish  it.  The  external  world 
in  its  turn  captivated  and  held  her  attention;  so  that 
merely  to  sit  looking  out  of  the  window  was  sufficient 
io  keep  her  interested,  entranced.  Sedgmoor  Street  was 
ihe  universe  in  little.  Each  passer-by  was  mankind. 
Within  each  house  lay  the  mystery  and  wonder  of  the 
(ntire  planet. 

August  had  nearly  gone,  and  already  the  evenings  were 

(Josing  in,  when  Roddy  announced  that  he  could  now  leave 

London.    It  was  at  dusk,  and  he  came  noisily  into  the  big 

Irawing-room  and  talked  so  volubly  that  he  almost  took 

lier  breath  away. 

"  What  are  you  moping  in  the  dark  for  ?  Blind  man's 
loliday,  eh?  ''  And  he  turned  on  a  blaze  of  electric  light. 
^  Now,  old  girl,  you've  got  to  pull  up  your  socks,  and  get 


lU  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

a  move  on.    I  have  plotted  great  deeds.    I  am  going  to  do 
an  American  campaign." 

"  American  campaign.'* ''  she  echoed  feebly.  ' 
Then^  with  exuberant  satisfaction,  he  told  her  how  he 
had  decided  that  they  should  spend  the  autumn  in  the 
United  States;  he  had  long  been  wanting  to  open  out 
business  relations  witK  big  men  over  there;  he  intended 
to  impress  himself  on  New  York. 

"  Roddy,  I  can't  go  with  you.  You  must  go  alone." 
"  Rubbish.  Of  course  you  must  come.  I  mant  you.  I 
couldn't  do  it  without  you."  And  he  rattled  on,  explain- 
ing that  his  elegant  partner  was  an  essential  part  of  the 
scheme.  They  were  to  go  out  there  as  ultra-fashionable 
people,  two  English  bloods  travelling  for  pleasure,  and 
only  after  they  had  made  their  society  success  would  he 
attempt  operations  in  the  financial  world.  She  must  at 
once  write  to  all  the  American  friends  they  had  met  over 
here;  she  must  bustle  about  and  get  introductions  from 
big-wigs.  Also  she  had  better  buy  some  really  slap-up 
frocks — ready-made  of  course,  as  there  was  no  time  now 
for  measuring  and  trying  on.  "  Buy  some  real  eye- 
openers,  Claire.  Hang  the  expense.  Buy  dresses  that 
people  can't  get  away  from.  I  want  us  to  be  talked  about 
and  written  about  from  the  word  Go.  I  want  us  to 
fairly  knock  the  Yanks,  between  us." 

"Roddy,  I  can't.  I — I  am  going  to  have  a  baby." 
"  Oh,  damn,"  said  Roddy,  and  he  sat  down  and  stared 
at  her.  All  the  expansive  gaiety  passed  from  his  face; 
he  looked  gloomy  and  disappointed,  like  a  child  who  hears 
that  his  little  treat  must  be  given  up.  "  Well,  I'm  blowed. 
When  is  it  to  be?" 

"  The  end  of  January,  I  think." 

His  face  lit  up  again.  "  January !  Why,  bless  me,  that's 
five  months.     My  dear  old  girl,  you  don't  need  to  lie  in 
the  straw  from  now  till  then.     You^ll  be  all  right.     The 
-voyage  will  do  you  good." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  145 

No,  I  couldn't  stand  the  fatigue.  Besides,  I  should 
be  10  use  to  you.  I — I  couldn't  look  nice.  I— I  couldn't 
W(    r  the  sort  of  dresses  you  thought  of." 

Well,  upon  my  word,  this  is  a  let-down^ — at  the  very 
m  i  n^it  I  was  counting  on  you.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
be  [  >re. 

'   I   don't    know.      I   wasn't    sure — so    I    waited — and 

th  1 "     She  sat  looking  at  him,  watching  his  gloomy 

fa :  3.      "  Roddy,  didn't  you  want  us   to  have   any  chil- 
dr:a?'^ 

' '  Of  course  I  did.  I  should  be  something  less  than  a 
m<  1  if  I  didn't.  You  funny  old  thing,  what  odd  remarks 
yen  make  sometimes."  He  got  up,  laughed,  and  shrugged 
hi;    shoulders. 

''  Yet  you  aren't  glad,  Roddy.    You  are  sorry." 

''  Nonsense.  I'm  delighted.  And  proud  as  a  peacock, 
too — proud  as  several  peacocks."  He  walked  about  the 
rocm,  talking  of  the  marvellous  piece  of  news,  and  as  he 
ta  ked  recovering  his  good  humour.  Gradually  the  notion 
of  fatherhood  began  to  please  him  so  much  that  he  forgot 
th3  annoyance  caused  by  the  frustration  af  a  well-devised 
scheme.  He,  Roddy  Vaughan,  was  about  to  put  into  the 
we  rid  a  little  creature  fashioned  in  his  own  image ;  he  had 
felt  a  little  down  on  his  luck  lately,  but  now  he  thrilled 
wl:h  that  sensation  of  unexpectedly  increased  importance 
wl  ich  was  always  so  grateful  to  him.  And  he  remem- 
bered opportunely  the  conversation  of  a  shrewd  old  man 
called  Fergusson  on  a  Castle  Line  steamer  years  ago, 
T-iis  old  chap  had  said  one  night  in  the  smoking-room  that 
ycu  never  really  make  a  woman  your  own  till  you  hav^ 
hf  d  a  child  by  her.  Claire  was  going  to  be  his  now, 
^'  rith  a  vengeance." 

His  affectionate  protestations  were  quite  genuine,  there- 
fo  'e,  when  presently  he  sat  upon  the  sofa  beside  his  wife, 
sn  oothed  her  hair,  kissed  and  patted  her  cheeks. 

"  You  little  sly-boots.     This  up  your  sleeve,  and  never 


146  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

tell  me!  What  next?  Which  is  it  to  be — boy  or  girl? 
Let  it  be  a  boy  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you.  What  a  lark ! 
Roddy  Number  Two,  what?  You  dear  Claire,  you  have 
made  me  more  proud  and  happy  than  you  guess." 

At  dinner  he  made  not  a  single  complaint  about  the 
food.  Indeed  he  vowed  that  the  poulet  en  casserole  was 
excellent  and  urged  her  to  have  some  more  of  it,  adding 
meaningly  that  henceforth  she  needed  as  much  nourish- 
ment as  she  could  get. 

After  dinner  he  spoke  with  magnanimous  gentleness 
about  the  abandoned  American  trip.  "  Certainly  I  shan't 
go  by  myself.  Do  you  think  I  should  desert  you  at  such 
a  time,  Claire?  No,  I  renounce  the  whole  plan.  Wash- 
out !  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  We'll  have  a  fort- 
night together  at  Hastings,  and  then  I'll  go  to  Scotland 
and  get  some  shooting." 

And  he  went  on  with  sl  description  of  that  uncle  and 
aunt  of  his  who  kept  the  Bolingbroke  Hotel  at  Hastings. 

'''  We  may  as  well  give  them  a  turn.  They'll  take  it  as 
a  compliment  my  bringing  you  to  see  them.  Strictly 
speaking,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  asked  them  to  our 
wedding ;  but  they  would  have  been  fish  out  of  water,  and, 
of  course,  I  don't  pretend  they  are — well,  yow  know." 

Now,  however,  one  could  do  them  a  civility  and  prevent 
their  feeling  hurt. 

So  together  they  went  to  stay  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Girdlestone  at  the  Hastings  hotel;  and  Claire  sat  upon 
the  pier  while  Roddy  played  golf  at  Rye  and  read  her  book 
in  their  sitting-room  while  he  enlivened  the  evening  in  the 
parlour  behind  the  bar.  Mrs.  Girdlestone  used  to  come 
into  the  sitting-room,  apologize  for  neglecting  Claire,  and 
beg  her  to  ask  for  anything  she  wanted.  "  You  see  how 
busy  we  are,  don't  you?  And  will  make  allowances  if 
I  don't  give  you  the  attention  I  could  wish?  "  Mr.  Girdle- 
stone, who  breathed  stertoroiisly,  came  to  their  table  at 
(dinner,  inquired  after  their  appetites,  and  whispered  ami- 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  147 

ab^  '  to  Claire:  "You've  got  a  rare  rammucky  spark  in 
M '  iter  Roddy,  and  I  hope  you  don't  trust  him  further 
th  i  1  you  can  see  him." 

'  You  get  on,  you  old  grampus,"  said  Roddy  merrily, 
"  {  id  don't  try  to  take  my  character  away.  Funny  thing 
I  (:  dn't  turn  out  wicked  with  you  for  an  example  when  I 
wai  a  boy." 

^.nd  it  was  not  till  the  visit  was  over  and  they  were 
dr:^  ing  to  the  railway  station  in  the  hotel  omnibus  that 
Cla  re  discovered  it  had  been  a  real  visit  and  they  had  been 
ho  tl  guests  otherwise  than  in  the  usual  acceptation  of 
th(  term,  with  nothing  to  pay. 

'  They  did  us  all  right,  didn't  they?  "  said  Roddy.  "  A 
f 01  :night  free  gratis!    That's  a  bit  of  economy  for  once.'' 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  servants  were  taking  their  holidays,  and  Claire 
had  the  ornate  Nappensol  house  almost  to  herself. 
One  might  say  that  she  had  not  only  the  house, 
but  Sedgmoor  Street  and  the  whole  neighbourhood  also; 
for  all  the  world  was  away.  Hans  Place  seemed  fast 
asleep;  Cadogan  Square  was  mournful  and  silent  as  a 
large  red-brick  cemetery ;  troops  of  little  boys  with  sticks 
searched  the  emptiness  of  Sloane  Street  for  fallen  chest- 
nuts ;  and  the  church  had  the  aspect  of  a  place  of  business 
altogether  closed  until  trade  should  be  resumed  again  when 
weddings  next  came  into  season. 

For  the  good  of  her  health  Claire  used  to  take  long 
solitary  walks,  beyond  the  river  sometimes,  to  the  windy 
expanses  of  Battersea  Park.  She  had  no  sense  of  loneli- 
ness now.  The  whole  external  pageant  of  existence  had 
become  rich  with  new  meanings  for  her ;  even  at  this  dead 
time  of  year,  with  shrivelled  leaves  scurrying  along  the 
pavements  to  meet  her,  and  the  first  cold  breath  of  winter 
chilling  her  face,  she  could  see  and  feel  the  marvellous 
message  or  promise  of  life  in  all  things — life  that  is  ever 
renewing  itself,  the  life  of  the  future,  that  cannot  be 
obliterated  by  the  death  of  each  passing  hour. 

As  she  stood  watching  the  seagulls  make  their  white 
circles  above  the  bridge,  or  children  that  played  and  ran 
beside  the  embankment  wall,  or  beyond  all  else,  infants 
carried  in  women's  arms,  deep  wells  of  tenderness  and  love 
seemed  to  gush  forth  in  her  almost  frozen  heart.  Ineffable 
thoughts  filled  her  mind.  Nature  is  not  blindly  cruel, 
but  inscrutably  kind :  when  we  suffer  most  we  are  learning 
the  measure  of  a  nobler  joy. 

At  such  moments  she  had  an  immense  longing  to  speak 

148 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  149 

of  1  le  secret  that  was  mysteriously  changing  all  the  world 
fo  her.  Against  reason,  in  defiance  of  memory,  she  felt 
an  elemental  yearning  for  her  mother's  counsel  and  sym- 
pa  ly.  She  wanted  to  put  her  arms  round  Mrs.  Gil- 
mc  r's  neck,  and  whisper  about  what  was  going  to  happen 
ne  :  January ;  to  say  in  effect,  "  Mother,  you  put  the 
to  h  of  life  into  my  hand,  and  I  am  giving  it  into  the 
ha  :  Is  that  shall  carry  it  on  when  you  and  I  have  ceased 
to  (  e." 

i  ut,  as  she  knew,  or,  as  she  thought  she  knew,  Mrs.  Gil- 
mciT  was  still  on  the  continent  with  Emily  and  Leonard 
Jo  yce,  enjoying  one  of  those  extended  tours  that  had  been 
taJ  ed  about  so  often,  and  always  postponed  until  Claire 
he   jelf  was  "  out  of  the  way." 

■he  could  scarcely  believe  the  evidence  of  her  eyes,  there- 
foi  •?,  when  she  saw  Mrs.  Gilmour  just  ahead  of  her, 
turiing  the  corner  of  Hague  Street,  and  pacing  slowly 
anrl  reflectively  towards  home.  Dusk  had  fallen,  and  in 
the  half  light  Claire,  for  a  moment,  thought  that  she 
mij^t  really  be  mistaken,  and  that  this  meditative,  dignified 
fig  ire  was  only  a  servant  attired  in  some  of  Mrs.  Gilmour's 
cast-off  garments.  But  the  stately  figure  paused,  seemed 
to  look  up  and  down  the  street  vaguely,  as  if  its  mind 
had  wandered,  and  it  did  not  quite  know  where  it  was  or 
what  it  proposed  to  do  next.  Then,  with  a  little  start, 
as  of  returning  consciousness,  it  passed  up  the  steps  and 
rang  the  door  bell.    It  was  Mrs.  Gilmour  and  nobody  else. 

''Mother!     What  a  surprise!" 

Olaire  had  pursued  as  rapidly  as  she  dared,  and  stood 
wiih  her  mother  on  the  steps,  while  a  new  young  footman 
wa:ched  them  from  the  open  door,  wondering  who  the 
mi  sis's  pretty  lady  friend  might  be. 

' '  My  dear  Claire,  it  is  you  who  surprise  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Gi  mour  graciously.  "  You  drop  upon  me  out  of  the 
clc  ads,  quite  unexpectedly.  But  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you, 
de;T." 


150  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Claire's  heart  overflowed  to  the  warmness  of  this  wel- 
come. It  was  more  especially  pleasant  to  her  because, 
during  the  last  half-year,  Mrs.  Gilmour's  manner  had 
grown  cold  and  reserved;  as  if,  after  the  first  ardour 
of  satisfaction  in  the  happy  marriage,  something  had 
occurred  to  make  her  look  upon  Claire  with  far  less  pride 
and  affectionate  interest. 

She  followed  her  mother  meekly  through  the  well-re- 
membered rooms,  and  sat  by  a  cheerful  wood  fire  in  the 
morning-room,  while  Mrs.  Gilmour  ambled  to  and  fro, 
talking,  divesting  herself  of  her  cloak  and  hat,  and  hand- 
ing them  to  the  maid  who  had  come  to  fetch  them. 

"  What  is  it,  Yates  ?  Oh,  yes,  you  want  my  scarf  too. 
Unpin  it  for  me,  please." 

The  house  was  just  the  same,  and  yet  to  Claire's  ej^es 
so  incredibly  altered.  She  understood  that  the  change  lay 
in  herself,  and  not  in  these  familiar  objects.  She  thought 
of  the  shy,  childish  Claire  that  used  to  wander  aimlessly 
through  this  and  the  other  rooms,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
that  a  hundred  years  had  passed  since  then ;  that  she,  the 
woman  who  had  tasted  bitter  fruit,  the  disillusioned  wife, 
the  hopefully  expectant  mother,  should  be  unrecognizable 
by  those  who  had  known  the  girl.  The  solemnly  respectful 
greeting  of  her  old  friend  Belton,  when  he  came  to  receive 
certain  confidential  orders  from  his  mistress,  did  not  dis- 
sipate this  fancy. 

"  Tea,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour  gaily.  "  I  was  talking  to 
Belton  about  tea.  The  fact  is — Emily  would  blow  me 
^p  and  pretend  it  was  insufficient,  although  at  my  age  I 
think  I  ought  to  be  the  best  judge — but  when  I  am 
alone  like  this,  I  do  not  have  a  regular  dinner.  It  is  a 
relief  to  the  servants,  and,  whatever  anybody  may  say, 
it  suits  me  better.  I  have  my  tea  a  little  later,  and  I  add 
to  it  what  I  like,  and  what  I  have  always  considered  ex- 
tremely sustaining.  You  would  not  guess  what  I  have 
ordered  for  myself  to-day ; "   and  she  looked  at  Claire 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  151 

wit  1  an  air  of  modest  triumph,  as  if  enjoying  the  sense 
of  her  resourcefulness  and  fertility  of  invention,  "  A 
co;  pie  of  boiled  eggs  !  " 

'  I  think  I  might  have  guessed,"  said  Claire,  smiling, 
"ij   you  Tiad  given  me  time,  mother." 

•  Only  on  this  occasion,  I  have  told  Belton  iour  eggs 
in  ead  of  two,  and  you  must  join  me.  Claire,  I  insist. 
"W(  will  go  into  the  dining-room  and  have  our  meal  com- 
for  cably.  I  think  tea,  when  you  can  sit  down  to  it  quietly, 
is  o  much4)referable  to  the  usual  sketchy  arrangement 
—  'ou  know  what  I  mean,  people  carrying  about  their 
tei-cups,  and,  *  Won't  you  have  a  slice  of  this  cake?' 
Oi .  *  Do  try  the  ratafias.'  Emily  and  I  have  a  particular 
name  for  it.  But  you  remember,  of  course.  ^  If  possible,' 
Eiiiily  always  says,  *  do  let  us  have  a  schoolroom  tea.'  So 
ncu,  being  quite  alone  here,  I  indulge  in  the  practice  every 
evening." 

**  But,  mother,  I  want  to  know  why  you  are  here  at  all. 
I  thought  you  weren't  coming  back  from  Italy  till  the 
middle  of  November." 

"  I  did  not  go  to  Italy,  Claire." 

"  Oh,  why?    Emily  said  it  was  all  settled." 

"  I  gave  it  up,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour,  walking  about  with 
her  hands  clasped  behind  her  back.  "  I  had  to  let  Emily 
ar  d  Leonard  go  without  me.  The  expense  was  too  great — 
coming  on  top  of  everything  else.  I  could  not  afford  it. 
I  was  completely  cleared  out  of  funds." 

"  Really,  mother  ?  But  what  was  it  made  you  short  of 
money  like  that?  " 

Mrs.  Gilmour  paused  in  her  walk,  and  looked  at  Claire 
fi::edly  and  with  a  somewhat  severe  eye. 

"  I  wonder  that  you  ask  me,  Claire  " ;  and  she  moved 
away  again.  "  Suffice  it  to  say  that  I  had  met  heavy 
a]  id  unexpected  claims.  I  prefer  not  to  think  of  it. 
P  ease  do  not  reopen  the  matter." 

She  went  on  talking;  but  Claire  was  conscious  of  a 


152  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

change  in  her  manner.  All  the  warmth  and  friendliness 
had  gone ;  the  coldness,  noticed  so  many  times  of  late,  had 
returned  again. 

"  Mother,  I  can't  understand " 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear.  Come  and  let  us  have  our  eggs. 
You  are  ready  for  us,  Belton?  '' 

In  the  dining-room,  when  Belton  left  them  alone,  and 
when  Mrs.  Gilmour  was  well  on  with  her  second  egg^  Claire 
asked  more  questions.  Want  of  money  in  this  house  was 
something  so  odd  and  unnatural  that  it  really  required  a 
full  explanation. 

"  Mother  dear,  I  hate  to  think  of  your  losing  your  holi- 
day, and  for  such  a  reason.  Do  tell  me.  Have  investments 
gone  wrong — or  is  it  Cyril?  " 

"  Cyril,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour,  bridling,  "  had  to  be  extri- 
cated— no  matter  what  the  cost."        , 

"Extricated?" 

"You  know  the  story,  don't  you?  Didn't  Emily  tell 
you?" 

"  Emily  tells  me  nothing  about  you  all.  And  she 
scarcely  ever  comes  to  see  me." 

"  Well,  it  need  be  no  secret  from  you.  Happily  it  is 
over  and  done  with." 

And  Mrs.  Gilmour  plaintively  related  the  circumstances 
of  Cyril's  entanglement  with  an  actress.  Madly  in  love 
with  this  young  person,  he  had  foolishly  and  very  wrongly 
proposed  marriage;  then,  when  he  had  been  persuaded  to 
withdraw  his  rash  proposal,  4hey  were  threatened  with  an 
action  for  breach  of  promise,  and  finally  Mrs.  Gilmour 
had  settled  it  out  of  court.  The  affair  had  been  terribly 
expensive;  but  anything  was  better  than  a  scandal,  and 
having  one's  name  in  the  papers. 

"Or  such  an  unfortunate  marriage,"  said  Claire,  com- 
fortingly. "  It  was  something  that  Cyril  consented  to  give 
her  up." 

"  He  did,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour.     "  But,  between  you 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  153 

ar  1  me,  Claire,  I  fear  it  was  only  because  he  had  fallen, 
ii  love  with  somebody  else.  The  stage  has  become  an 
ah  ;olute  infatuation  with  him.  Goodness  knows  how  it 
wi  I  end."     And  she  sighed. 

'  That  was  the  first  thing  that  crippled  me,"  she  con- 
ti  ued  presently.  "  Then  there  are  those  leasehold  houses 
—  ;imply  a  morass  in  to  which  money  has  to  be  poured* 
Aid  the  unfairness  of  it!  The  leases  are  running  out, 
an  1  in  a  few  years  the  ground  landlord  will  attempt  to 
tale  them  away  from  me  altogether.  I  say  to  Mr.  Collie, 
^  r  o  you  mean  to  allow  a  considerable  portion  of  my  in- 
cone  to  be  confiscated  without  making  an  effort  to  prevent 
it  ^ '  And  he  just  shrugs  his  shoulders,  and  says  we  are 
pc  merles s  and  it  is  the  law  of  the  land.  Claire,  never  talk 
to  me  about  solicitors.  Believe  me,  the  more  respectable 
thiy  are,  the  more  incompetent.  It  has  always  been  the 
sa  ne  story  with  Collies — even  in  your  father's  time.  But 
he  30uld  keep  them  up  to  the  mark.  Now,  however,  that 
I  liive  no  one  to  lean  on " 

Agitated  by  this  doleful  thought,  she  put  down  her 
egg-spoon,  rose  to  her  feet,  and  began  to  wander  round 
tht   dining-table. 

'  Claire,  you  don't  understand  what  it  is  to  be  thrown 
on  your  own  resources  unaided.  You,  who  have  a  husband 
stiil  living  to  manage  business  matters  for  you,  to  guard 
your  interests  and  protect  you  from  imposture!  When 
you  are  left  alone,  an  old  woman  in  my  position,  you  will 
find  that  the  whole  world  seems  to  regard  you  as  fair 

gaiie,  to  extort Oh,  and  that  reminds  me.     But  I 

int  mded  not  to  touch  on  it."  She  picked  up  her  tea-cup, 
took  a  sip  or  two  standing,  and  over  the  brim  of  the  cup 
stared  at  Claire  severely.  Then  she  restored  the  cup  to 
its  saucer  with  an  air  of  decision.  "  Yes,  I  will  speak 
f ra  ikly.  Claire,  you  really  must  not  send  Roddy  to  me 
age  in." 

'  Mother,"  cried  Claire,  aghast,  "  what  do  you  mean.'^  " 


15*  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  I  mean  that  if  you  outrun  the  constable,  as  Roddy 
terms  it,  you  must  catch  him  up  without  further  assistance 
from  me.'^ 

"  Mother,  I  never "    But  then  Claire  became  silent, 

and  hung  her  head.  She  had  been  about  to  protest  against 
this  accusation,  and  declare  her  entire  innocence.  No, 
that  would  not  do:  she  could  not  disavow  what  her  hus- 
band had  done  in  their  joint  names.  If  necessary,  she 
must  bear  the  shame  of  it  for  both.  In  a  moment  she 
understood  everything,  remembering  very  clearly  how, 
when  she  had  begged  that  no  appeal  for  money  might  be 
made  to  her  mother,  he  seemed  to  sympathize  with  her 
reluctance,  and  had  said  that  if  she  did  not  care  to  make 
such  an  appeal,  she  must  not  do  it.  But  he  had  done  it 
himself.  While  she  had  been  feeling  a  glow  of  gratitude 
towards  him  for  his  kindness,  he  was  remorselessly  achiev- 
ing the  end  in  view.  Each  word,  as  Mrs.  Gilmour  went 
on  talking,  added  to  her  confusion  and  distress. 

"  It  is  all  very  nice  to  have  fine  and  extravagant  decora- 
tions in  one's  house,  but  then  I  say  one  should  not  call 

upon  other  people  to  pay  for  them.     If  Messrs.  . 

What  is  their  name? dun  for  their  money,  that  should 

have  been  provided  for  beforehand.  It  is  all  very  well  for 
Roddy  to  gratify  your  fancies  and  wish  to  house  you 
like  a  queen,  as  he  says ;  but,  then,  is  it  fair  to  hold  a 
pistol  to  my  head  and  make  me  pay  the  bill?  I  was 
not  consulted  beforehand — no,  not  invited  to  choose  so 
much  as  a  single  wall-paper.  I  do  think,  Claire,  when 
launching  out  with  these  odd-named  people,  Napper — 
Napping — whatever  it  is — I  do  think  you  might  have 
asked  me  for  my  sanction — in  the  circumstances." 

"  I  am  sorry,  mother." 

"  Well,  of  that  first  time,  I  say  no  more.  One  does  not 
have  to  furnish  a  house  every  year — as  he  puts  it.  But 
the  second  time,  Claire,  within  only  a  few  months !  No, 
that  is  too  much.     So  I  put  it  to  you>  frankly,  Claire; 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  155 

you  lave  not  the  right  to  continue  such  an  extravagant 
moc  of  life — astonishing  everybody,  and  making  even 
Em  !  J  a  little  envious — unless  your  means  justify  it,  or, 
at  1  ist,  until  Roddy  comes  into  his  fortune.  I  cannot 
go  1  '  saving  the  situation,'  as  he  terms  it.  I  have 
don  \  all  I  could,  and  it  is  not  fair  to  ask  me  to  do 
mor    " 

"  '.  Mother,  I  am  so  sorry — so  very  sorry." 

"  '  Then  we  will  say  no  more.  Claire !  You  have  left 
hoth  your  eggs  untouched !  Will  you  not  have  some  mar- 
mali.le?  It  was  sent  to  me  by  Uncle  Derek.  It  is  the 
mar  lalade  they  have  at  one  of  his  clubs.  I  forget  which 
club— he  belongs  to  so  many — ^but  he  says  it  is  the  best 
mar  nalade  in  England." 

C  lire  took  her  leave  without  trying  the  marmalade,  and 
without  confiding  to  her  mother  the  secret  that  just  now 
had  seemed  so  great  and  so  important.  It  seemed  of  very 
littlr  consequence  now.  She  went  back  to  Sedgmoor  Street 
feeliag  weary,  lonely,  and  ashamed. 

Before  going  to  bed  she  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Roddy, 
in  Scotland;  reproaching  him  for  what  he  had  done,  tell- 
ing him  how  bitterly  she  regretted  his  having  done  it  with- 
out iier  knowledge,  and  imploring  him  never  to  do  it  again. 
She  acquainted  him,  too,  with  the  cruel  consequence  of 
his  acts — Mrs.  Gilmour's  loss  of  a  summer  holiday. 

At  night ''she  could  not  sleep  because  of  her  thoughts 
aboi  t  this  disaster.  Poor  mother,  deprived  of  the  pleasant 
continental  tour  with  Emily;  alone  when  all  London  was 
awa/;  having  eggs  for  tea  instead  of  a  table  dlwte  dinner, 
with  no  one  to  stimulate  conversation  except  Belton  or 
Yat-s. 

B  it  Roddy,  in  his  reply  from  Scotland  a  few  days 
later,  treated  the  episode  very  lightly. 

He  affected  to  believe  it  had  been  arranged  between 
then  that  he  was  to  ask  the  favour,  since  she  felt  shy  about 
aski  ig.  "  I  took  it  on  myself,  in  order  to  spare  your  sus- 


156  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

ceptibiHties,  although  they  appeared  to  me  quite  out  of 
place." 

"  Of  course,''  he  added,  "  it  all  rubbish  for  the  old  lady 
to  pretend  she  is  hard  up.  I  wish  I  had  half  her  com- 
plaint." And  he  concluded  his  letter  by  saying  that  he 
was  homeward  bound  now,  and  that  he  proposed  to  take 
Yorkshire  on  the  way,  for  the  purpose  of  looking  in  upon 
the  baronet,  his  great  uncle.  She  was  to  send  him  imme- 
diately her  best  photograph,  so  that  he  might  show  to  the 
head  of  the  house  a  portrait  of  his  new  niece.  **  I  hope 
to  make  it  up  with  him  once  for  all,"  said  Roddy,  with 
characteristic  hopefulness.  "  It  is  time  we  buried  the 
hatchet." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HE  had  returned  from  the  North,  and  was  engrossed 
by  his  City  labours  again.  He  had  not  visited 
Yorkshire,  and  he  looked  glum  when  Sir  Rod- 
eric  ^  was  mentioned.  Evidently  the  old  man  had  refused 
the  ( hance  fof  an  affectionate  meeting,  and  the  hatchet 
rem  i  ned  above  ground.  Roddy  spoke  of  being  out  of 
luck  and  up  against  adverse  conditions;  but  when  Claire 
ask((l  sympathetic  questions,  he  told  her  to  mind  her 
own  business. 

"  [[{  there  is  anything  calculated  to  put  a  man  off  his 
gSLiTi  and  knock  the  courage  out  of  him,  it  is  incessant 
advice  from  a  woman — and  an  ailing  woman  ^t  that.  It 
would  take  me  a  month  to  explain  the  difficulties  of  my 
position,  and  the  large  interests  involved — and  you 
woujln't  understand  even  after  that." 

Then,  one  evening  in  November,  when  he  came  into  the 
hou.^e,  it  was  as  though  half  a  dozen  other  angry,  shouting 
men  had  entered  it  with  him.  He  bellowed  at  the  scared 
servmts;  he  filled  the  hall  and  staircase  with  noise. 
Claire,  upstairs  in  the  drawing-room,  sat  trembling  as 
the  aoise  ascended,  drew  nearer,  and  burst  upon  her. 

"  Look  at  this.  Just  read  it.  See  what  the  old  devil 
has  done  to  bowl  me  out  and  ruin  me." 

H  was  the  news  in  the  evening  papers  that  had  driven 
him  to  frenzy.  He  brought  with  him  several  newspapers, 
all  crimipled  and  torn,  and  thrust  one  of  them  into  Claire's 
shal  ing  hands. 

*'  Read  it.     See  for  yourself." 

A  nd  Claire,  with  wildly  anxious  eyes,  read  the  announce- 
menb  of  the  marriage  of  an  ancient  Yorkshire  baronet — 
"  M  ay  and  December.   .    .    .   Sir  Roderick,  who  has  never 

157 


168  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

been  married  before,  is  eighty-three,  while  the  bride  as  yet 
has  numbered  only  twenty  summers.  ...  A  romantic 
interest  attaches  to  the  union  in  the  fact  that  Miss  Banks 
Was  born  upon  the  estate.  Her  father  acts  as  steward  or 
bailiff  to  the  home  farms,"  and  so  on. 

Claire's  first  sensation  was  one  of  immense  relief,  her 
impulse  to  say,  "  Is  that  all.?  "  But  a  glance  at  Roddy's 
face  kept  her  heart  still  beating  fast.  There  must  be  a 
solid  cause  for  such  furious  emotion. 

"  Roddy,  of  course  it — it's  a  blow  to  your  hopes — per- 
haps.   But  will  it  necessarily  mean " 

"  It  will  mean  that  I  am  in  the  soup,"  he  bellowed.  And 
he  went  raving  and  roaring  out  of  the  room. 

At  dinner  he  was  calmer;  but  he  inveighed  against  the 
elderly  bridegroom  in  such  outrageous  terms  that  Claire 
told  the  servants  to  leave  them  alone  and  they  would  wait 
on  themselves. 

"  Roddy,  don't — please  don't  say  these  things.  What 
good  can  it  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can't  be  mealy-mouthed  about  it.  Curse  the 
lascivious  old  brute.    Curse  the  whole  dirty  crew  of  them." 

"  Roddy,  don't — oh,  don't  be  so  violent.  You — you  are 
upsetting  me — you  are  making  me  ill." 

"  Fancy  being  able  to  get  a  clergyman  to  countenance 
and  abet  him  in  such  beastliness.  It  is  beastliness  at  his 
age.  Why,  it  isn't  a  marriage  at  all.  What  is  marriage 
for  but  the  begetting  of  offspring?  and  what's  the  chance 
of  offspring,  I  ask  you,  with  a  worn-out,  dried-up  old 
stick  of  eighty-three?  In  love  with  her  be  blowed.  It's 
just  senile  lustfulness — gone  dotty  after  a  pig-tail  and  a 
petticoat ;  and  instead  of  getting  him  a  nurse  or  a  keeper 
to  make  him  behave  himself,  they  ring  the  bells  and  march 
him  off  to  church  and  give  him  a  blessing.  I'd  like  to  be 
behind  that  parson — his  cloth  v^ouldn't  save  him  till  I'd 
kicked  him  round  the  churchyard  and  up  the  village  street. 
Disgrace  to  the  Church!     Not  marriage — profanation.'* 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  159 

An  I  Roddy  spluttered  and  fumed,  at  the  end  of  his  tirade. 

i  ter  dinner,  in  the  oak  parlour,  he  sat  down  at  his 
des  i  and  brought  out  masses  of  papers.  He  was  quiet 
nov  The  rage  had  burnt  itself  out,  and  he  seemed  to 
be       prey  to  acute  anxiety. 

'  [  must  think  what  I  can  do,"  he  murmured.  "  I  must 
try    o  think  how  the  situation  is  to  be  saved." 

C  aire  was  watching  him  intently,  and  she  understood 
tha;  he  was  more  than  anxious,  he  was  afraid.  For  the 
firs  time  she  could  see  fear  in  his  eyes  and  hear  it  in  his 
voic.  And  this  fear  communicated  itself  to  her,  shook 
her  so  that  she  leaned  against  the  big  desk  for  support. 
She  stood  there,  white  and  trembling. 

''  Roddy,  tell  me  everything.  I'm  your  wife.  Don't 
kee])  things  back  from  me." 

'*  There's  nothing  to  keep  back.  Why  are  you  looking 
at  ne  like  that.'^     Come  here.     Sit  down,  and  listen." 

lie  had  said  that  it  would  take  months  to  explain  the 
stale  of  affairs,  but  now,  in  two  minutes,  he  was  able  to 
give  her  a  notion  of  his  financial  position.  He  had  been 
trading  on  his  expectations  from  Sir  Roderick,  putting 
them  forward  as  much  more  solid  than  they  were,  bolster- 
ing up  his  credit  with  stories  of  future  opulence.  Now, 
obv  ously,  since  the  old  brute  had  taken  a  wife,  he  had 
somebody  nearer  than  a  great-nephew  to  whom  he  could 
bequeathvhis  wealth.  To-morrow,  when  the  published  news 
had  gone  round,  Roddy  would  have  all  his  creditors  upon 
him 

''  Your  creditors  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Roddy,  stroking  his  moustache ;  "  unless  I 
can  persuade  them  that  it  will  make  no  difference  to  me 
in  tie  end." 

"  Do  you  owe  a  lot  of  money?  " 

*'  Well,  yes,  added  up  it  mounts — all  round." 

^*  The  tradesmen  are  paid.  We  owe  nothing  for  this 
home.'* 


160  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Except  for  everything  that's  in  it." 

*'  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  Nappensol.  They've  had  nothing  but  driblets 
— a  hundred  at  a  time  to  keep  them  quiet;  and  their  ac- 
count is  a  matter  of  thousands.'' 

"  But  my  mother !  What  she  gave  you  the  first  time 
was  to  go  to  Nappensols." 

"  It  didn't  go  to  them.    It  went  to  keep  the  pot  boiling." 

"  Roddy !  Why,  why,  that  wasn't  honest.  It  was  get- 
ting money  under  false  pretences.  Suppose  she  finds 
out.?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  bothering  about  her,  I  don't  care  if  she 
finds  out  or  not.     I'm  thinking  of  others." 

And  again  she  saw  the  vacillation  of  his  eyes,  the  nerv- 
ous movement  of  his  lips,  the  expression  of  a  person 
perplexed  and  alarmed,  as  he  begins  to  recognize  the 
extent  of  the  danger  with  which  he  is  threatened.  And 
again,  too,  fear  seized  her. 

"  Roddy,"  she  said  desperately,  "  tell  me  the  truth. 
I've  a  right  to  know." 

"  I  have  told  you.  Can't  you  see,  that  if  people  begin 
dunning  me  for  immediate  payment — a  whisper  against 
my  credit  wiU  ruin  me  in  half  my  business.?^  " 

"  Yes,  but  whatever  we  owe  we  can  pay.  We  must  pay, 
of  course — no  matter  what  sacrifice  we  make.  Only  there's 
more  than  that  in  your  mind.    What  is  it?    Trust  me." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  was  going  to  get  up, 
but  she  clung  to  his  arm. 

"  Roddy,  you  are  frightening  me — and  I  can't  stand  it. 
What  have  you  done  that  puts  you  in  such  horrible  diffi- 
culty.? Tell  me.  You  are  my  husband — and  I  mustn't 
blame  you,  whatever  it  is.  I  must  only  try  to 
help  you." 

Then  he  explained  how  his  principal  embarrassment 
arose  from  the  fact  of  his  having  allowed  a  few  people 
to  suppose  that  old  Sir  Roderick's  money  was  settled  on 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  161 

hir  ,  and  not  merely  an  expectation.    This  marriage  might 
set  them  asking  awkward  questijons. 

'  Understand,  Claire.  I  have  said  nothing  in  black  and 
w]i  te ;  "  and  he  pulled  at  his  moustache  nervously.  "  No, 
I'v  i  not  put  my  foot  in  it  to  that  extent.  There  is  noth- 
in:  in  black  and  white.  But  I  certainly  have  conveyed  the 
in  )ression  by  word  of  mouth.  So  there  you  are.'* 
•  Could  they  prosecute  you  ?  " 

'  No,  of  course  not.  That's  so  like  a  woman.  Worm 
oi  every  thing ;  then  miss  the  point.  What  rubbish!  The 
Zfla'  can't  touch  me — not  such  a  fool,  my  dear,  as  to  get 
pii  ched  that  way.  No,  I'm  absolutely  safe.  Only,  as  I've 
tol  J  you  a  dozen  times  already,  it's  awkward  for  my  credit. 
My  whole  life  is  built  on  credit.  Knock  that  from  under 
me,  and  down  I  go.  There,  that's  more  than  enough.  I 
mjst  think  now." 

But  she  would  not  release  his  arm  or  let  him  get  up 
from  his  chair. 

"'  Roddy,"  she  wailed ;  and,  sinking  to  the  floor,  she  laid 
her  face  upon  his  knee  and  sobbed  convulsively. 

He  was  not  honest.  She  had  always  known  by  instinct, 
in  f allibly ,  that  at  heart  he  was  a  swindler  and  a  cheat ;  and 
yet  the  confirmation  of  her  knowledge,  coming  from  his 
ovm  lips,  seemed  too  bitter  to  support.  Nevertheless,  she 
was  sorry  for  him.  Pity  and  kindness  irresistibly  moved 
her.  Elemental  womanhood  softened  every  thought,  so 
that  her  tears  soon  became  a  mere  explosion  of  nervous 
force,  a  relief  after  strain  rather  than  a  sign  of  revolt 
oi  disgust.  Good  or  bad,  he  was  her  husband,  and  in 
sore  trouble  and  affliction. 

"  Claire,"  he  was  saying,  "  get  up.  Don't  make  a  the- 
ai  rical  ass  of  yourself.  Stop  that  row.  The  servants  will 
hear  you  and  wonder  what's  wrong." 

As  if  they  had  not  heard  himself,  and  been  wondering 
fcr  the  last  three  hours.  But  the  astounding  irony  of 
tl  is  caution  was  not  noted  either  by  him  or  her. 


162  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Yes,  Roddy,  I  will — I  will."  She  had  got  up,  and 
was  drying  her  eyes.  "  Now  I'll  be  quiet  and  sensible ; " 
and  sitting  in  the  chair  by  his  side,  she  took  his  hand 
and  held  it  with  both  her  hands.  He  could  feel  her 
fingers  tightening  and  relaxing  their  grip  spasmodically, 
a  pulsation  that  she  could  not  control  while  she  talked 
to  him  eagerly. 

"  If  you're  safe,  and  we're  not  going  to  be  disgraced,  I 
don't  mind.  You  must  pay  them  to  the  last  farthing  and 
then,  for  heaven's  sake,  Roddy,  let  us  start  our  lives  on  a 
new  plan." 

And  she  implored  him  to  cease  his  frantic  hunt  for 
wealth,  and  be  satisfied  with  competence;  to  leave  this 
expensive  house  and  live  modestly  without  show;  to  get 
rid  of  all  pretence,  and  pay  their  way  like  honest  citizens. 

"  Impossible,"  he  said.    "  I  must  keep  up  appearances.'* 

^*  Oh,  why,  Roddy  ?     That  has  been  your  fatal  error. 

There's  no  need And,  Roddy,  I  feel  it,  I  know  it,  we 

don't  keep  up  appearances  really.  We  don't  deceive  peo- 
ple. They  see  through  it,  and  laugh  at  us.  They  mti^t 
do.  Roddy,  don't  disregard  what  I'm  saying.  It's  true 
— it's  wise.  When  you  force  me  to  invite  people  here — 
you  know,  people  that  are  not  in  our  world,  the  big-wigs, 
as  you  call  them — ^well,  they  are  only  surprised." 

"  Are  they.?     They  never  showed  it." 

**  Not  to  us.  But  from  their  point  of  view  it  is  almost 
an  impertinence.  They  tell  each  other  we  might  have 
waited  for  them  to  ask  us.  And,  Roddy,  however  hateful 
it  sounds,  they  must  set  us  down  as  snobbish,  thick-skinned, 
common.  And  we  oughtn't  to  do  it,  we  needn't  do  it. 
Educated  people  shouldn't  behave  like  that.  We  should 
be  above  it — you  and  I,  Roddy." 

He  sat  listening  gloomily,  and  bit  his  lip  and  frowned, 

"Well,  if  we  were  living  in  a  little  house  out  of  the 
beaten  track — living  for  ourselves,  Roddy — there'd  be  no 
temptation.     We  couldn^t  do  it.     Let's  live  for  ourselves* 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  163 

Le  's  try,  anyhow.     Take  me  out  of  it,  Roddy,  for  my 
St   e.  If  not  for  yours.     Save  me  from  these  humiliations 
ar  .  fears  and  torments," 
'  Oh,  pile  it  on." 

'  Roddy,  don't  be  angry.  I  can't  help  it.  Perhaps  this 
—  rhat  has  happened — is  our  chance,  a  blessing  if  we  make 
it  ne.  Do  what  I  say.  Begin  again — we  may  be  happier 
th(  n.  We  aren't  going  to  be  happy  this  way — your  way. 
R:  ddy,  I  swear  I'll  try  my  hardest.  And  let  me  help  you. 
I  :  an  help  you  if  you'll  only  trust  me.  Don't  shut  me  out 
of  the  work  that  is  your  life.  Give  me  a  share  in  it. 
D  n't  believe  the  nonsense  about  women  being  useless  to 
advise,  or  incapable  of  understanding.  I  can  help  you, 
Rcddy.  I  can  keep  you  straight ,  if  you'll  trust  me  and 
d(»  what  I  ask." 

^  No,"  he  said  doggedly.  "  We  can't.  It  would  be  to 
o"^vn  myself  beaten.  No,  it's  not  as  bad  as  all  that.  Let 
me  think.     Stop  chattering  and  let  me  think." 

She  released  his  hand,  and  he  went  over  to  the  desk 
and  sat  there  staring  at  his  papers. 

"  Oh,  no,  old  girl,  you've  gone  off  at  a  tangent.  There 
are  more  ways  of  killing  a  dog — I've  till  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Funny  thing  if  I  can't  manage  to  see  daylight  with- 
out turning  pale.  Don't  say  anything  more.  I  want  to 
think."  Then,  after  a  silence,  he  spoke  with  a  change  of 
tcne,  more  briskly,  more  in  his  usual  style.  "  Look  here. 
You  hit  the  right  nail  on  the  head  when  you  said  we 
should  have  to  make  sacriiSces.  Well,  I've  figured  it  out. 
-A  pill  to  swallow,  but  it  won't  choke  us.  Five  or  six  thou- 
sand judiciously  laid  out  will  see  me  through  the 
wood." 

Then  he  told  her  that  he  must  get  off  a  large  number 
of  letters,  so  that  they  would  reach  their  destinations  by 
the  morning's  post,  and  nullify  the  damaging  effect  of 
t  lat  May  and  December  announcement.  When  people 
f  incy  you  have  lost  all  your  money,  the  trick  is  to  show 


164f  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

them  that  you  still  have  money.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
show  them  a  lot  of  money.  A  few  sovereigns  on  top  of 
a  sack  of  brickbats  will  often  look  like  treasure.  He 
would  settle  several  urgent  claims  in  full,  and  would  send 
checques  on  account  to  everybody  else.  He  had  calculated 
the  amounts.  Nappensols'  mouth  could  be  closed  with 
fifteen  hundred  pounds;  other  mouths  might  be  fed  more 
sparingly.  He  would  also  tell  everybody  in  conversation 
that  the  baronet's  marriage  made  no  difference  to  his  ulti- 
mate circumstances. 

"  Perhaps  that's  literally  true,  Glaire ;  "  and  for  the 
first  time  he  laughed,  but  rather  ruefully.  "  I  don't  know 
that  it  does  make  any  difference." 

And  he  went  on  to  say  that  the  money  required  for  his 
soothing  operations  must,  of  course,  be  provided  by  the 
sale  of  stock.  "  I  borrow  it,  Claire,  from  our  capital,  but 
I  reinstate  it  as  soon  as  I  can.  We  do  the  whole  thing 
without  outside  assistance.  Even  if  your  mother  wasn't 
pretending  that  I  had  milked  her  dry,  I  should  leave  her 
out  of  it.     I  don't  want  gossip." 

He  got  up,  stretched  himself,  and  spoke  firmly  and 
confidently. 

"  Now,  Claire,  you  talk  enough  of  helping  me.  This  is 
the  time.     Where's  that  typewriter  of  yours  ?  " 

"  In  the  other  room.  You  know  I  haven't  used  it  since 
you- 


"  Well,  you've  got  to  use  it  now,  if  you're  to  be  any 
good  to  me.     Fetch  it." 

His  spirits  had  risen  again,  and  when  the  butler  came 
presently  to  answer  the  bell,  he  gave  his  orders  with 
ahnost  jovial  easiness  of  manner.  He  wanted  the  usual 
tray  of  bottles  and  glasses,  and  the  fire  was  to  be  made 
up.  Then  he  took  off  his  coat  and  threw  it  over  the  back 
of  a  chair. 

When  the  man  returned  with  the  tray,  his  master  was 
seated  at  the  big  desk  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  while  the  mistress 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  166 

saL  at  a  small  table  near  him,  assiduously  dusting  the 
ke  \  i  of  her  long  discarded  typewriter. 

•  Shove  on  plenty  of  coals,"  said  Mr.  Vaughan,  over  his 
sh« )  Uder.  "  Now  don't  let  me  be  disturbed.  You  can  all 
go    o  bed.  ...  Ready,  Claire.?  " 

'  One  moment." 

'  Buck  up.  Be  nippy.  Don't  fall  asleep.  .  .  .  First 
letier  is  to  the  bank.  By  selling  the  stuff  through  the 
bark  I  lose  my  half  commission,  but  I  must  let  that 
go.  You'll  have  to  write  a  line  to  those  fossils  in 
Giiiy's  Inn,  Collies,  to  advise  them  of  what  you're  doing, 
or  we  shall  have  them  on  the  fidget.  Now.  Begin. 
*  I> 3ar  Sir,  be  good  enough  to  sell  for  me  securities  as 
unoer.' " 

He  dictated,  and  she  struggled  desperately  to  type  the 
words  as  quickly  as  he  spoke  them. 

''  Oh,  God,  how  slow  you  are !  "  he  said,  during  the  sec- 
ond letter.  And  he  came  and  stood  looking  down  at  her, 
making  her  slower  and  more  blundering  than  before. 
"  I^ook  here,  never  mind  the  mistakes.  Fire  ahead  and 
get  it  down  anyhow.  You  can  do  fair  copies  afterwards, 
an  1  I'll  give  you  notes  to  type  from  presently." 

Then  the  dictation  went  on  again.  She  had  exhausted 
hei'self  utterly  in  that  passionate  appeal  to  him  to  re- 
nounce his  empty  splendours  and  begin  life  again  on  sim- 
pler, cleaner  lines.  It  had  seemed  to  her  while  she  poured 
ou :  her  long-suppressed  thoughts  that  a  tremendous  crisis 
had  come,  that  fate  was  offering  them  an  opportunity 
which,  if  they  availed  themselves  of  it,  might  allow  them 
to  wipe  out  all  the  wretched,  sordid  past.  She  had  felt 
th.it  her  confidence  in  him  would  be  revived,  that  even 
lo^e  for  him  would  be  evoked,  if  only  she  could  persuade 
hin  to  take  the  offered  chance.  But  now  she  had  ceased 
to  think  of  these  better  things.  She  thought  only  of  the 
ta  k  that  lay  before  her.  It  appalled  her  as  an  almost 
f a]  itastically   impossible   ordeal,   the  sort  of  overwhelm- 


166      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

ing  labour  that  we  are  set  to  perform  in  troubled  dreams ; 
but  she  meant  to  do  it  or  die  in  the  attempt. 

That  was  a  hysterical  idea,  she  told  herself,  as  with 
unpractised  fingers  stumbling  on  the  treacherous  keys, 
with  hot  eyes  staring  at  them,  she  plodded  on.  Her  head 
ached,  her  back  ached,  her  heart  beat  tumultuously  at 
every  slip  she  made. 

"Getting  on  all  right.?'* 

«  Yes." 

"  Stick  to  it,'* 

This  was  hours  later.  He  had  done  dictating  and  gone 
back  to  his  desk.  After  writing  many  cheques,  he  began 
to  supply  her  with  manuscript  jottings  which  she  was 
to  convert  into  formal  business-like  letters.  She  was  work- 
ing exactly  as  people  work  in  dreams  now;  but  the  work 
seemed  easier,  the  atmosphere  of  the  dream  less  heavy 
and  distressing. 

Suddenly  Roddy  gave  a  shout  that  brought  her 
out  of  the  dream  with  such  a  shock  that  she  nearly 
fainted. 

*'  Stamps!  Have  we  enough  stamps?  If  we  can't  stamp 
the  letters  I'm  done." 

Claire  knocked  off  work  to  join  in  the  stamp  hunt,  going 
upstairs  to  the  brown  and  gold  bedroom  to  look  for  stamps 
there.  Enough  stamps  were  found.  Roddy  gave  a  sigh 
of  relief ;  Claire  sat  down  to  her  work  again ;  and  the  long 
hours  of  the  night  passed. 

Roddy  had  done  his  part  and  was  waiting  for  her  to 
finish  all  the  fair  copies.  He  piled  up  the  fire  and  made 
it  blaze  again.  He  walked  about  the  room,  drank  and 
smoked. 

"  Have  a  little  whisky  ^nd  soda.     It'll  buck  you  up." 

"  No,  thank  you,  Roddy." 

"Biscuits?" 

"  No,  I  won't  stop." 

"Bravo!    You've  a  rare  pluck,  Claire.     I  always  told 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  167 

yo  J  so,  didn't  I?    We  shall  do  it  on  our  heads.    It's  only 
foi     o'clock.'^ 

"  le  would  not  stop.  She  was  like  a  soldier  on  a  forced 
ma  1  zh ;  knowing  that  he  must  go  on  marching,  that  he  must 
brr;  k  blood-vessels  in  the  brain  sooner  than  cease  moving, 
thf  he  dare  not  fall  out,  though  every  six  foot  length  of 
dit  ^  by  the  roadside  tempts  him  to  roll  into  it  and  die 
coi  fortably. 

?  oddy  had  put  on  his  coat  long  ago.  Fetching  an  over- 
co^  ,  from  somewhere,  he  wrapped  it  about  him,  lay  upon  a 
sof : ,  and  slept.    He  woke  refreshed. 

*•  Nearly  through,  Claire?" 

*'  Only  a  little  longer,  Roddy." 

!  [e  had  another  drink,  lit  another  cigar,  and  strolling 
aboat  the  room,  talked  quite  gaily.  His  sanguine  tempera- 
me  t  had  recovered  its  natural  elasticity. 

"  The  news  was  a  smack  in  the  face,  I  admit ;  but  Roddy 
Vaughan,  isn't  to  be  bowled  over  as  easily  as  all  that.  I 
wai  inclined  at  first  to  make  a  mountain  out  of  a  mole- 
hill. And  I  was  wrong  to  let  you  take  it  so  seriously,  old 
girl.     I  wish  you'd  have  a  drop  of  whisky  and  soda." 

(riaire  shook  her  head,  but  did  not  answer.  The  click- 
click-click  never  ceased.  The  bell  tinkled  at  regular  in- 
tervals. 

"  I'd  like  to  justify  myself  in  your  ey^s — I  mean,  about 
all  my  debts  and  engagements.  Things  you  said  to  me 
to-night  have  touched  me,  Claire.  I  will  take  you  more 
int>  my  confidence.  For  the  future  I'll  show  you  a  de- 
tailed statement  of  my  earnings.  It  would  astonish  you, 
the  sums  I  often  touch.  No  one  can  say  I  don't  pull  my 
weight  in  the  boat.  As  to  this  paltry  six  thousand,  I'll 
pu ;  it  back  ten  times  over  in  two  years.  I'm  playing  a 
big  game,  a  winning  game,  too — in  the  long  run,  a  cer- 
tai  ity."  And  he  snapped  his  fingers  and  laughed,  quite 
jo  'ously  this  time.  "Rather  a  lark,  all  this,  reaUy! 
Li:  e  would  be  too  flat  if  one  didn't  have  ups  and  downs. 


168  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

I  like  a  bit  of  a  fight.  Don't  you?  The  excitement  of 
it.     I  think  I  flourish  on  excitement." 

Certainly  she  did  not  seem  to  be  flourishing  on  it,  if 
one  might  judge  by  the  dark  circles  round  her  eyes,  the 
deadly  pallor  of  her  cheeks,  the  piteous  contraction  of 
her  lips,  and  the  rapidity  with  which  she  drew  her  breath ; 
but  Roddy  observed  nothing  amiss.  She  could  hardly  see 
the  keyboard;  she  could  hardly  believe  what,  in  fact,  was 
true,  that  she  was  accurately  copying  sentences  from 
which  all  meaning  had  gone.  Only  will-power  drove  the 
mechanism  of  brain  and  body,  and  kept  her  seated  at  her 
nearly-finished  task. 

"  I  have  done,  Roddy." 

Then  Roddy  got  to  work  again,  signing,  folding,  stamp- 
ing. He  felt  pleased  with  the  achievement;  he  whistled 
as  he  walked  briskly  along  Sedgmoor  Street  to  put  all  his 
reassuring  letters  in  the  pillar-box  at  the  corner. 

It  was  dawn.  At  what  seemed  a  fabulous  height,  Claire 
could  see  the  outline  of  windows  on  the  second  landing, 
grey  and  ghostly  above  the  yellow  glow  of  the  electric 
light,  as  she  crawled  upstairs,  dead-beat,  holding  to  the 
balusters.  When  she  reached  her  room  she  fell  across  the 
bed,  groaning. 

Thirty  hours  afterwards  she  gave  birth,  prematurely,  to 
a  girl  child. 


CHAPTER  XV 

DURING  the  day,  the  night,  the  morning  of  the 
next  day,  while  anxiety  filled  the  house,  Roddy 
was  truly  terrific. 

1]  /erybody  wished  him  a  thousand  miles  away,  he  was 
so  cud,  so  fervent,  so  overwhelming;  but  nothing  would 
mal:  i  him  absent  himself  even  for  half  an  hour's  fresh  air 
anc  exercise.  He  felt  like  a  general  on  a  field  of  battle, 
the  ;aptain  of  a  storm-tossed  ship  with  the  rocks  on  each 
sidt.  or  anyone  else  of  whom  duty  imperatively  required 
tha  :  he  should  remain  where  he  was,  in  the  thick  of  it.  He 
issued  orders,  advice,  even  threats.  If  only  one  life  could 
be  ^.ived,  it  must  be  the  mother's.  However,  he  wished  the 
two  lives  to  be  saved,  and  saw  no  reason  why  they  should 
not  be,  if  the  progress  of  modern  science  meant  anything 
at  all.  If  chloroform  was  indicated,  it  probably  would  be 
wise  not  to  delay.  Or  any  other  anaesthetic,  no  matter 
whet  it  cost.  Money  was  no  object.  But  if  the  famous 
specialist  made  a  mess  of  the  case,  he  would  jolly  well 
hear  about  it. 

''  She  overtired  herself  yesterday  evening,  doctor.  Could 
tha:  have  anything  to  do  with  it?  " 

lEour  after  hour  one  heard  his  voice  as  he  talked  on  the 
tele  phone.  He  had  cancelled  all  appointments,  and  he  told 
evei  ybody  the  reason,  fully.  Perhaps  this  seclusion  suited 
his  book  in  one  way.  Sometimes  it  is  easier  to  answer 
troublesome  questions  on  the  telephone  than  if  you  are  in 
the  same  room  with  the  inquirer ;  you  have  only  your  voice 
to  1  lanage  and  don't  have  to  bother  about  the  expression 
of  3  our  face. 

"That  you,  Vincent?  Sorry  I  couldn't  meet  you  as 
arrmged;  but  my  poor  wife.    .    .    .   Yes,  now.     Taken 

169 


170  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

with  her  pains  unexpectedly,  two  months  or  more  before 
the  time,  .  .  .  Oh,  yes,  I  saw  the  news.  No  news  to 
me,  of  course.  We  are  all  very  pleased  about  it.  Fact 
is,  the  old  fellow  wanted  a  companion,  someone  to  look 
after  him.  Very  lonely  up  there  by  himself  in  that  huge 
barrack  of  a  house.  Yes,  a  charming  girl.  The  wife  and 
I  would  have  been  at  the  wedding,  but  for  this  upset.  .  .  . 
Yes,  I've  secured  the  best  obstetric  surgeon  in  Europe. 
.  .  .  Oh,  no,  doesn't  made  a  bit  of  difference  to  me. 
Enough  there  to  provide  for  half  a  dozen  wives  without 
cutting  into  my  share.  .  .  .  Hullo,  hullo!  You  got 
that  cheque  I  sent  you?  That's  all  right.  .  .  .  Yes,  I 
repeat,  not  the  slightest  difference  to  my  expectations. 
.  .  .  Oh,  I'm  praying  that  it  may  be  over  soon.  The 
suspense  is  too  awful." 

So  he  went  on,  keeping  the  wires  busy,  calling  for 
number  after  number ;  soothing  the  doubtful,  craving  sym- 
pathy from  the  kind.  You  could  hear  him  right  down 
in  the  basement,  where  the  butler,  listening,  remarked  dryly 
to  other  auditors :  "  You  would  think  he  was  having  the 
baby  himself,  wouldn't  you?  " 

Yet  beneath  all  this  business  activity  and  as  the  foun- 
dation of  all  the  voluble,  noisy  statement  of  his  cares  and 
fears,  there  was  true  emotional  anxiety.  The  thought 
struck  cold  upon  him,  making  his  hand  shake  as  he  re- 
plenished his  glass  of  whisky  and  soda,  taking  all  the  snap 
and  virtue  out  of  the  generously  apportioned  mixture: 
*'  Suppose  I  was  to  lose  her,  after  all !  My  little  Claire — 
my  own  dear  girl.  What  on  earth  should  I  do  without 
her?" 

When  not  telephoning,  or  having  meals,  or  drinking 
between  meals,  he  walked  about  the  hall  and  lower  rooms 
rather  in  the  style  of  his  mother-in-law  under  stress  of  too 
rapid  meditations.  Great  as  he  had  known  his  love  to  be, 
he  was  surprised  by  the  strength  of  it  now.  He  asked 
himself  if  ever  a  man  had  so  adored  a  wife,  and  then 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  171 

ma  2  lanimously  replied  to  the  question  by  telling  himself 
ths  she  deserved  adoration.  She  was  such  a  tip-topper ; 
a  b  i  of  allright,  as  he  had  once  paid  her  the  compliment 
of  .  ying;  a  beautifully  minted  gold  piece  that  would  ring 
tru  on  whatever  substance  one  pitched  it  down.  He 
woi  lered  if  he  had  really  done  enough  for  her ;  he  re- 
prc :  ched  himself  for  occasional  harshness ;  he  promised 
hin. ;  elf  to  be  extraordinarily  gentle  in  his  handling  of  her 
for  '  ver  more.  She  was  such  a  delicate,  sensitive  organi- 
zat  '■  »n  that  a  hard  word  to  her  might  be  worse  than  a  blow 
to  Mother  sort  of  woman.  His  tenderness  was  always  in- 
cre  i>ing.  He  had  the  pretty  but  sincere  notion  that  he 
woi  d  be  willing  to  give  half  his  fortune — ^her  fortune — 
the  •  fortune — what  remained  of  it — if  he  could  save  her 
fro  J I  grief  or  pain. 

'^'hen  he  clenched  his  teeth  fiercely,  as  though  biting  at 
the  lateful  thought  that  for  the  moment  he  was  powerless 
to  f-ssist  her  in  the  smallest  degree.  Unconscious  of  all  his 
good  intentions,  she  was  lying  upstairs  in  agony. 

i^Jthough  begged  not  to  go  upstairs  himself,  he  could 
not  keep  away;  and  once,  as  he  stood  on  the  threshold  of 
his  dressing-room  to  listen,  he  heard  her  give  a  heart- 
rending cry.  That  scarcely  recognizable  voice  of  anguish 
con  ing  to  him  from  the  other  side  of  the  closed  door  af- 
flic  ed  him  with  a  physical  discomfort  so  great  that  he 
almost  staggered;  and  while  his  imagination  recoiled  from 
a  V  sion  of  the  familiar  resting-place  now  changed  into  a 
darkened  torture-chamber,  he  felt  that  he  must  burst  in 
upc  n  it,  do  something  heroically  definite  to  save  her.  One 
could  not  stand  here  supine,  like  a  fatalistic  oriental 
sul  an  outside  the  seraglio  lattice,  while  janitors  were  do- 
ing to  death  one's  innocent,  faithful  handmaiden.  The 
nuise,  however,  appeared  in  the  corridor  and  told  him  to 
go  downstairs,  and  not  to  worry  himself  or  her.  He  went 
do\  Ti,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  the  back  of  his  bull 
necc. 


172  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

He  used  the  telephone  no  more;  he  ordered  Fisher  to 
answer  all  calls,  and  he  walked  up  and  down  the  oak 
parlour,  or  sat  with  bowed  head  at  the  big  desk,  murmur- 
ing aloud.  "  My  poor  little,  dear  little  Claire."  By  this 
morning,  the  morning  of  the  second  day,  the  annoyance 
caused  by  Sir  Roderick's  marriage  had  entirely  vanished 
from  his  mind ;  everything  had  gone  except  Claire ;  noth- 
ing else,  not  the  fish  company,  the  glazed  brick  company, 
or  the  soon-to-be-floated  rubber  company,  was  of  the  least 
weight  or  substance  in  the  further  progress  of  life.  The 
future  had  resolved  itself  to  this:  Was  it  to  be  Claire  or 
no  Claire? 

Compared  with  the  hard,  stalwart,  cursing  Roddy  of 
two  days  ago,  he  was  limp,  nerveless,  a  large,  red-faced, 
unshaven  jelly.  When  his  sufferings  were  at  last  relieved 
and  they  told  him  that  things  had  ended  happily,  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

The  tears  fell  upon  his  moustache  presently  when  he 
stood  by  the  bed  and  looked  at  her.  She  seemed  quite 
bloodless;  her  pretty  face  was  as  if  modelled  in  white 
wax;  and  her  dark  hair,  not  tumbling  loose,  but  neatly 
braided,  was  like  a  crown  upon  her  forehead.  As  he  said 
afterwards,  the  sight  of  her  finished  him.  When  she  spoke 
it  was  in  a  whisper,  and  the  voice  seemed  to  come  from 
remote  distances,  from  another  world,  from  dark,  mys- 
terious spaces  on  the  far  side  of  the  grave  into  which  she 
had  wandered  and  then  been  mercifully  restored  to  him. 

"  A  girl,  Roddy." 

"  Yes,  dear.    Better  luck  next  time." 

And  she  whispered  again,  the  words  seeming  to  reach 
him  without  apparent  movement  of  her  lips,  just  as  a 
flutter  of  her  breath. 

"  Are  you  angry  v/ith  me,  Roddy,  because  it  isn't  a 
boy?" 

"  Angry,  my  darling?  Why,  how  can  you  ask  me  such 
a  question?  " 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  173 

I  at  she  had  fainted.  So  he  could  not  continue  his 
prtt  estations. 

\  Weakness,  nothing  to  fret  about ;  of  course  she  must 
be  :ept  very  quiet.  He  took  a  bath,  shaved,  put  on  a 
bk*  suit,  went  down  to  luncheon;  and  found  that  he  had 
a  ]  odigious  appetite,  after  all  that  he  had  gone  through. 
Ne  er  had  a  pint  bottle  of  champagne  been  more  griev- 
ou  y  needed  or  more  thoroughly  enjoyed.  With  the 
ho:  invigourating  food  and  the  cheering,  stimulating  wine, 
he  '  asted  a  fine  ecstasy  of  satisfaction  in  the  happy  turn 
of  vents.  He  was  like  the  captain  who  has  stuck  by  his 
shi : '  and  boldly  ridden  out  the  storm. 

'fter  a  cigar  he  telephoned  the  glad  tidings  to  all  the 
wo  Id;  the  family,  business  connections,  and  friends  at  the 
club. 

By  dinner-time  he  was  a  peacefully  proud  and  con^ 
teried  parent.  In  the  expansiveness  of  his  joy  he  was 
gvindj  to  talk,  and  there  being  nobody  else  available  he 
talked  to  the  butler. 

'  This  is  all  very  colossal,  if  you  think  of  it,  Fisher." 

'  I  beg  pardon,  sir." 

"'  I  mean,  Mrs.  Vaughan  presenting  me  with  a  daughter. 
It's  a  new  generation,  Fisher — marks  an  epoch  in  a  hus- 
ba  id's  life.    You're  a  married  man,  aren't  you,  Fisher.^  " 

'  Oh,  yes,  sir." 

'  Got  any  children  ?  " 

■'  Two,  sir — boy  and  girl,  sir." 

''  Ah.  My  word,  Fisher,  it's  an  awful  business,  child- 
biith.  It  never  came  home  to  me  till  now.  Make's  one 
feci  one  oughtn't  to  have  let  a  fellow  creature  in  for  such 
a  Mai;  regularly  touches  one  on  the  raw,  doesn't  it.f^  But 
of  course,  it's  the  decree  of  nature.  Didn't  you  feel  badly 
upset  when  Mrs.  Fisher  had  to  face  it.?  " 

''  Very  much  indeed,  sir.     Extremely  anxious." 

•'  But  I  suppose  the  second  time  it  was  easier?  " 

''  Oh,  very  much  so,  sir." 


174  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"Why?^' 

"  Well,  I  couldn't  really  say,  sir,  except  that  I  knew  it 
wasn't  the  first  time." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Roddy. 

In  the  oak  parlour,  alone  with  his  coffee,  liqueur  brandy, 
and  cigar,  he  felt  reconciled  to  nature's  laws.  It  would  be 
impious  to  set  oneself  in  revolt  against  them;  if  they 
ordain  suffering,  then  suffering  is  unavoidable.  He  was 
himself  again,  only  a  little  bigger.  As  things  dropped 
once  more  into  their  due  proportions,  he  saw  that  all  this 
anguish  he  had  caused  held  its  proper  and  legitimate 
place  in  the  unfolding  drama  of  his  personal  history.  The 
resilient,  steel-strong  egoism  that  is  the  very  mainspring 
of  such  natures  as  his  enabled  him  now,  while  he  stood 
lording  it  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  to  feel  a  glory  and 
an  ease,  as  of  success,  achievement,  triumphant  culmina- 
tion, even  in  the  memory  of  that  delicate  helpmate,  that 
docile  slave,  being  torn  to  pieces  to  give  him  pleasure  and 
perpetuate  his  race. 

Roddy  Vaughan  was  all  right;  not  to  be  bowled  over 
by  slight  scares  about  business,  want  of  sleep,  or  acute 
anxiety.  He  felt  an  immense  confidence — mingling  with 
the  warmth  of  the  fire  behind  him,  and  the  after-glow  of 
the  rich  meal  and  strong  drink  inside  him — that  he  would 
soon  do  wonders  financially.  He  was  eager  to  be  back  in 
the  struggle  for  dubious  adventures  and  illicit  rewards. 
He  would  fight  now  like  a  giant  refreshed.  He  meant  to 
knock  spots  off  the  universe. 

Meanwhile  time  was  beginning  to  hang  heavily.  He 
thought  of  himself  as  slapping  friends  on  the  back,  play- 
ing a  game  of  snooker  pool  at  the  club,  sitting  in, the  stalls 
"of  a  music-hall;  and  with  this  last  thought  he  experienced 
almost  an  hallucination.  It  was  as  if  he  really  heard  the 
clash  of  a  noisy  band,  smelt  the  lower  strata  of  a  cloud 
of  tobacco  smoke,  and  saw  the  movements  of  girls'  legs  in 
flesh-coloured    stockings.      He    pulled    himself    together. 


i 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  175 

K  »t  to  be  considered  for  a  moment  as  possible.  It  would 
b    distinctly  bad  form  to  go  out  on  this  very  first  evening. 

He  sat  down  and  dozed.  Then  before  the  evening  was 
o^  er  he  sent  for  Pope. 

"  How's  Mrs.  Vaughan  getting  on.?  " 

"  Nicely  now,  sir,  the  nurse  says." 

"  Come  right  in.  Pope.  And  shut  the  door  behind  you,'*, 
s  i  ^d  Roddy,  smiling  at  her.  "  Don't  stand  over  there,  as 
if  you  were  afraid  I  wanted  to  eat  you." 

Pope  looked  rather  nice  in  her  black  dress,  with  the 
little  fold  of  soft  collar  round  her  neck;  a  well-built  young 
^(»man,  not  quite  as  young  as  she  used  to  be,  but  with 
plump  cheeks,  good  eyes,  and  reddish  brown  hair.  Her 
n  inner,  however,  was  constrained  and  the  expression  of 
iher  face  grave,  severe ;  her  lips  compressed  themselves 
hsrdly,  instead  of  softening  in  a  responsive  smile. 

"Well,  Pope,  wonderful  events,  eh?  Here  am  I  a 
bachelor  again,"  and  he  laughed.  "  An  enforced  bachelor 
for  the  next  few  months,  whatl"  And  he  observed  her 
■waist,  her  shoes,  and  her  ankles — not  very  slender.  Pope's 
a  okles,  but  still  ankles.  "  All  on  my  lonesome ;  so  I 
t  lought  I'd  like  a  little  chat  with  you.  Pope.  Oh,  hang 
ii,  I  can't  go  on  Poping  you  like  this.  Too  absurd.  And 
after  such  ages  I  don't  know  your  christian  name.  I'll 
b?t  it's  a  pretty  one.    Well.?  " 

"  I  was  christened  Emma,  sir,"  said  Pope,  after  a 
slight  pause. 

"  Emma!  Emmie  for  short.  Well  now,  you  jolly  old, 
f  mny  old  Emmie,  I've  neglected  you,  I  know  I  have.  But 
life  rushes  on,  and  one  never  gets  a  minute.  I  hope  you 
don't  feel  rusty  about  it." 

"About  what,  sir.?  " 

"  Well,  you  know  how  grateful  I  was  to  you,  and  I 
promised  you  a  handsome  honorarium  for  valuable  serv- 
i-  es  rendered.  And  I  haven't  given  it  to  you,  have  I? 
I  dare  say  you've  often  wondered." 


176  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  I  never  once  thought  of  it,  sir,"  said  Pope  se- 
verely. 

"Oh,  my!  How  stiff  and  stand-offish  we  are!  Don't 
frown,  Emmie.  It  spoils  your  fascination ; "  and  he 
laughed.  "  Emmie,  you  and  I  were  fellow-conspirators  in 
those  days,  eh.^*  Real  friends — and  I  want  us  to  remain 
so." 

As  if  in  proof  of  his  wish  he  had  taken  her  by  the  arm 
with  excessive  friendliness. 

"  Let  me  go,  please,  sir."  / 

"  Rubbish.  Don't  edge  away  like  that.  What's  the 
matter  with  you.'^  Don't  pretend  you've  turned  against 
me,  when  we  were  such  pals  at  first.  You  know  you  took 
to  me  from  the  very  beginning." 

"  P'raps  I  was  deceived  by  appearances.  P'raps  I 
wasn't  the  only  one  that  was  mistaken." 

"  There^s  a  slap  in  the  face !  "  said  Roddy,  with  the 
utmost  good  humour.  "  You  saucy  little  Emmie.  But  I 
don't  mind.  I  like  a  girl  with  plenty  of  spirit.  But  I'll 
have  a  kiss  to  begin  with,  anyhow."  He  had  clasped  her 
^aist  now,  and  Pope,  very  rigid  and  determined,  was 
fending  him  off.  He  wooed  her  softly  although  ardently, 
his  face  getting  red  and  his  eyes  glowing;  then,  as  Pope 
successfully  struggled,  his  tone  and  phrase  became  alike 
wrathful.  "  Emmie,  why  shouldn't  you  take  pity  on  my 
loneliness — show  yourself  a  pal?  Don't  play  the  innocent. 
Damn  it,  you  know  your  way  about.    Ah !  " 

By  a  combined  push  and  wriggle  Pope  had  released  her- 
self from  his  embrace ;  and  she  fled  to  the  wall,  and  stood 
there  more  rigid  than  ever,  both  hands  behind  her  back, 
and  one  of  them  fumbling  for  the  button  of  the  electric 
bell.  Roddy,  very  red  in  the  face  and  a  little  short  of 
breath,  stood  glaring  at  her. 

"  I  think  you're  out  of  your  senses,"  he  said  mutter- 
ingly. 

"  No,  sir,  I  think  it's  you  who's  forgot  what's  due  to 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  177 

irt  and  to  somebody  else  in  this  house5"said  Pope  pre- 
cis ly. 

Then  Fisher,  the  butler,  came  in. 

'  What  the  hell  do  you  want?  "  shouted  Roddy. 

'  You  rang,  sir." 

'  I  did  nothing  of  the  sort." 

'  It  was  /  who  rang,  sir.  I  thought  you  said  you  needed 
sci-ie  soda  water,"  and  Pope  glided  from  the  room. 

rhe  convalescence  of  Claire  was  slow,  and  she  had  a 
setback  when  Pope  gave  notice.  She  liked  Pope;  she  and 
Pope  had  been  together  for  so  long;  it  seemed  cruel  and 
hcr.rtless  of  Pope  to  leave  her  at  such  a  time.  But  Pope, 
although  expressing  deep  regard  for  her  mistress,  was 
qii  te  determined  to  go.  She  had  made  up  her  mind,  and 
sh(  could  not  change  it. 

What  did  Claire  more  good  than  anything  else  was  the 
aiiuval  on  the  scene  of  Aunt  Agnes.  Characteristically, 
Miss  Graham  appeared  just  in  the  place  and  just  at  the 
time  that  she  was  sorely  wanted.  She  had  been  all  round 
the  world  personally  escorting  two  girl  friends;  she  had 
^done  adventurous  deeds,  listened  to  reckless  opinions  in 
many  lands ;  but  she  seated  herself  by  Claire's  bed  with 
a  quiet,  reposeful  air  that  suggested  she  would  never 
move  again.  She  soothed,  she  encouraged,  she  under- 
stood. She  said  things  about  the  beauty  of  the  baby 
that  only  she  could  have  said — the  very  things  that  Claire 
had  been  longing  to  hear.  And,  what  was  so  wonderful, 
this  emancipated  old  maid  knew  incredibly  more  about 
babies  and  their  management  than  Mrs.  Gilmour,  who  had 
been  the  mother  of  six. 

Eventually  Aunt  Agnes  took  Claire,  the  baby,  and  the 
niirse  away  with  her  to  Bournemouth.  Roddy  made  diffi- 
culties about  this  removal  when  told  it  was  necessary  for 
Claire's  complete  restoration  to  health;  saying  that  he 
saiv  no  reason  why  Claire  should  not  get  well  where  she 


178  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

was,  that  it  was  rather  hard  on  him  to  lose  her  company 
now  that  she  could  come  downstairs,  and  after  all  the  costs 
already  incurred,  rail  fares,  hotel  bills,  and  so  forth  were 
rather  a  tall  order. 

"  Oh,  but  all  that,"  said  Miss  Graham  gently,  "  will  be 
my  affair." 

"  Well,  that's  certainly  very  kind  of  you,"  said  Roddy ; 
^'  and  I  suppose  I  must  waive  my  objections." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  you  would,"  said  Aunt  Agnes,  with 
much  sweetness  of  tone,  and  a  glitter  in  her  eye. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

**  ^J    T|  r  HY  didn't  you  call  her  Claire?  " 

y  \l  Emily  Joyce  and  others  asked  this  question. 
Claire  said  in  reply  that  Roddy  had  wished 
to  1  epeat  the  name,  but  she  had  thought  it  would  be  a  pity. 
Sh^  did  not  tell  them  that  she  had  a  superstitious  feeling 
th(. ;  Claire  was  an  unlucky  name,  and  that  properly  she 
oui^ht  to  have  called  her  darling  Hope,  Joy,  Comfort,  or 
SOI  ething  that  would  symbolize  the  immensity  of  solace 
and  bliss  that  had  come  into  her  own  heart. 

I'he  name  was  truly  of  no  moment.  Claire  had  at  last 
foi  id  the  living  thing  that  really  loved  her,  that  needed 
hei  always,  that  would  never  play  her  false. 
;•  "'  But  if  not  Claire,  why  Gladys  ? ''  asked  Emily. 
**  Cf  ladys  has  always  struck  me  as  such  a  particularly 
coinmonplace  name.  And  we  never  had  one  in  the  family 
beiore." 

Claire  would  not  confess  that  Roddy  had  been  unable 
to  explain  his  sentimental  fancy  for  the  name  of  Gladys 
except  by  relating  how  it  had  once  belonged  to  a  mare  who 
brought  him  luck  at  Hurst  Park,  literally  romping  home 
as  a  twenty- to-one  chance. 

Something  of  the  glory  and  delight  that  motherhood 
had  brought  her  shed  a  reflected  radiance  upon  Roddy. 
Moreover,  she  was  grateful  to  him  for  his  display  of  solici- 
tude at  the  time  of  trial;  for  the  nurse  had  told  her  of  his 
qu :te  upsetting  anxiety,  and  he  himself  again  and  again 
na  -rated  the  agonies  that  he  had  undergone. 

Henceforth,  then,  Claire's  universe  revolved  round  the 
child's  cot,  and  time  was  only  measured  by  the  child's 
gr  )wth.    The  sun  shone  when  Gladys  looked  well  and  ate 

179 


180  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

her  dinner  with  appetite ;  and  all  the  town  was  dark  and 
the  sun  seemed  to  have  gone  out  like  a  candle  on  such  days 
as  Gladys  looked  pale,  or  nurse  thought  she  had  one  of 
her  bad  headaches.  It  was  a  terrible  year  when  the  spring 
brought  nettle-rash  and  the  winter  whooping  cough. 
Gladys  was  undoubtedly  delicate ;  but  the  delicacy  would, 
of  course,  pass  away  with  time. 

Shadowlike  and  unreal  when  compared  with  these  events 
of  the  nursery,  the  occurrences  of  outside  life  seemed  to 
her  now  of  little  importance.  Plainly  affairs  were  not  go- 
ing well  with  Roddy.  His  new  adventures  did  not  prosper, 
his  biggest  coups  were  made  only  in  talk.  He  was  not 
treated  any  more  seriously  now  than  in  the  past  by  those 
large  financiers  whose  favour  he  courted  so  assiduously. 
Often  the  taste  of  failure  was  in  his  mouth,  and  disap- 
pointment had  an  increasingly  bad  effect  upon  his  temper. 
But  Claire  did  not  mind  occasional  violence  now,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  mere  rudeness  had  lost  the  power  of  wound- 
ing her.  He  might  swear  as  often  as  he  liked,  provided 
that  his  raised  voice  did  not  wake  Gladys.  She  used  to 
hurry  upstairs  to  make  sure  that  the  child  was  sleeping 
comfortably,  and  come  down  again  with  soothing  words 
and  a  gentle  smile. 

"  Yes,  it  is  hard  luck,  Roddy,  and  I  quite  understand 
how  angry  you  feel  about  it.  But  you  mustn't  be  down- 
hearted." 

Gladys  was  eighteen  months  old  when  once  more  the 
papers  contained  disastrous  news  of  their  titled  relative. 
Lady  Vaughan  had  provided  an  heir  to  the  baronetcy. 
"A  blossom  on  a  grand  old  tree.  .  .  .  There  is  rejoic- 
ing throughout  the  West  Riding.  .  .  .  Our  readers  will 
remember  the  romance  of  Sir  Roderick's  marriage ;  "  and 
so  on. 

If  Roddy  spoke  severely  of  the  aged  bridegroom,  what 
he  now  said  about  the  young  wife  and  her  infant  son  was 
far  worse. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  181 

Of  course  it's  not  his  child.  How  the  devil  could  it 
b(      .    .    ." 

Igain  his  credit  was  assailed,  and  this  time  it  was  the 
cr  L  mbling  and  disintegration  of  his  whole  legend.  Some- 
thi  ig  like  a  collapse  ensued.  What  Roddy  himself  ad- 
my  ted  to  be  heavy  sacrifices  were  necessary  in  order  to 
gel  clear  of  embarrassment.  They  withdrew  from  their 
spl  .ndid  Nappensol  surroundings,  which  now  at  last  were 
really  paid  for,  and  moved  into  a  bandbox  in  Mayfair, 
"  oaly  a  few  doors  from  Park  Lane,"  as  the  agents  de- 
sc/ibed  it,  where  there  was  but  space  for  a  very  small 
es   iblishment. 

lloddy  had  luck  in  selling  the  lease  of  the  Sedgmoor 
Stieet  house  to  a  north  country  manufacturer,  and  he 
nearly  sold  all  the  furniture  with  it. 

Sitting  on  a  table  in  the  hall,  with  his  hat  on  the  back 
of  liis  head,  he  made  sporting  offers  to  this  Mr.  Davidson. 

•  There  you  are.  Just  as  it  stands.  Chance  of  a  life- 
time.'' 

•"  If  Tbo't  it  lock,  stock,  and  barrel,"  said  Mr.  David- 
son, "  I'd  save  Mrs.  D.  a  mighty  lot  o'  trouble  and  my- 
self a  mighty  lot  o'  time.  An'  I'm  not  saying  that  time 
isn't  money." 

'  Of  course  it  is.    Don't  I  know  that,  by  Jove.?  " 

'  But,  all  the  same,  ye're  asking  a  precious  high  figure." 

'  Damned  sight  less  than  its  cost,"  said  Roddy  jovially. 
He  enjoyed  this  traflScking,  and  presently  called  Claire  to 
his  aid. 

'  The  wife  knows  more  about  it  than  I  do.  She's  an 
ex])ert  in  furniture.  Claire,  what  did  you  give  for  these 
Qi:een  Anne  chairs.?  Fifty  pounds  a  piece,  wasn't  it.? 
ShDw  Mr.  Davidson  the  marquetry  and  enamel  on  those 
Nappensol  cabinets." 

Dlaire  helped  him  as  well  as  she  could;  and  if  she  had 
no  known  before,  she  must  have  seen  now  what  a  liar  and 
a  1  umbug  he  was  when  engaged  in  a  business  deal. 


182  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  I'll  just  have  to  think  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Davidson. 

And  in  the  end  he  thought  he  would  take  the  house 
empty.  Roddy  was  chagrined,  and  told  Claire  she  had 
queered  his  pitch  by  humming  and  hawing  about  the  price 
of  the  chairs. 

The  fashionable  address  of  Mayfair  consoled  him  for 
the  reduction  of  establishment,  and  especially  the  close- 
ness to  Park  Lane — the  proper  abode  of  financial  mag- 
nates— pleased  him.  One  day  he  would  jump  over  the  few 
doors  that  separated  him  from  the  place  where  he  felt 
he  ought  to  be.    This  was  merely  pro  tew.. 

Here,  in  their  new  abode,  they  might  with  propriety 
have  soon  put  on  mourning  clothes,  for  Sir  Roderick  did 
not  live  long  enough  to  dandle  the  baby  boy  on  his  gouty 
knees ;  but  Roddy  refused  to  wear  even  so  much  as  a  band 
round  his  hat.  He  had  exhausted  all  his  maledictions,  and 
he  allowed  the  death  and  funeral  to  pass  almost  without 
comment.     The  legend  was  already  buried. 

Claire  for  a  little  while  had  thought  that  rudeness  was 
bereft  of  its  sting,  but  she  found  that  he  could  make  her 
suffer  through  the  child.  He  wounded  her  cruelly  when 
he  spoke  of  Gladys  making  an  infernal  row  on  the  stairs, 
or  rang  the  bell  for  the  nurse  and  abruptly  ordered  her 
darling  out  of  the  room.  He  made  her  tremble,  too,  when 
he  talked  of  the  child's  education,  the  schools  she  ought  to 
go  to,  the  physical  training  and  general  hardening  that 
she  would  probably  require. 

He  was  not  unkind  to  the  child,  but  so  inconsiderate. 
He  seemed  proud  of  her  in  her  rich  and  pretty  frocks ;  and 
as  soon  as  she  had  learnt  to  walk,  he  would  take  her 
sometimes  for  a  stroll  with  him  in  Hyde  Park. 

It  pleased  him  to  see  kind-hearted  ladies  admiring  the 
little  figure  that  toddled  after  him  in  the  white  satin  bon- 
net and  the  white  velvet  pelisse.  When  she  fell  and  lay 
sprawling  and  crying,  he  clasped  her  to  his  bosom;  and 
then  jumped  her  up  and  down  in  the  air  till  all  the  breath 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  183 

wa^  out  of  her  body,  so  that  she  couldn't  go  on  crying. 
H(  acted  the  father  on  these  occasions  with  a  great  af- 
fec  ition  of  unconsciousness,  but  feeling  all  the  time  sure 
th.i  ;  people  were  saying:  "  There  goes  Mr.  Vaughan,  the 
hus  )and  of  that  pretty  woman,  with  their  little  daughter." 
Or  f  by  chance  they  were  not  aware  who  he  really  was, 
th(  u :  "  What  a  distinguished-looking  man,  and  what  a 
bcK  itifuUy  dressed  child !  " 

' '  When  I  go  with  daddy,"  Gladys  told  her  mother,  "  he 
mal  es  me  tire  myself.    I  don't  love  daddy  any  more." 

1  ut  Claire  told  her  she  must  always  love  daddy,  be- 
cau^  he  was  daddy. 

t!ometimes  he  would  play  boisterously  with  her  indoors, 
and  the  child  showed  spirit  and  tenacity  at  the  playful 
tasks  he  set  her.  He  dodged  her  with  a  ball  round  and 
roi:  id  the  room,  defying  her  to  get  the  ball,  completely  ex- 
hausting her  in  the  fruitless  chase.  And  the  mother  suf- 
fer 3d  torments  while  she  watched. 

'•  Don't — don't  be  rough  with  her,  Roddy.  She's  siich 
a  httle  thing." 

'*  Yes,"  said  Roddy  good-naturedly,  "  but  she's  like 
you,  a  good  plucked  'un.  There,  little  lady,  there's  your 
ball.  By  Jove,  how  hot  she's  got.  Bedtime,  eh?  Yes, 
pack  her  off,  Claire.    I  want  to  write  some  letters." 

(xladys  was  well  on  in  her  fourth  year  when  England 
declared  war  against  Germany.  She  had  been  ailing,  and 
they  were  all  at  the  seaside;  but  in  spite  of  the  difficulty 
of  travelling  Roddy  at  once  took  them  back  to  London. 
Claire  thought  she  understood  the  reason  of  his  haste.  He 
intended  to  go  to  the  war.  He  was  a  soldier;  he  had 
alvays  talked  of  the  fascination  of  campaigning;  natu- 
ral y  he  would  go. 

j^ut  he  merely  went  into  the  city  and  cursed  the  German 
En  peror.  He  vowed  that  the  devil  himself  must  have  let 
loo  ie  this  infernal  Bedlam,  because  he  had  a  personal 


184  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

grudge  against  Roddy  Vaughan,  The  closing  of  the 
North  Sea  was  the  death-knell  of  that  moribund  fish  com- 
pany ;  all  trade  was  at  a  standstill,  and  so  no  more  glazed 
bricks  would  be  wanted;  and  as  to  rubber,  it  would  be 
allowed  to  rot  on  its  tree.  Did  any  one  ever  have  such  bad 
luck? 

Those  terrible  first  months  dragged  by.  Everybody 
had  gone  now — even  the  single  man-servant  who  had  re- 
placed Fisher  and  his  footman.  Their  friend  Colonel  Pir- 
bright  had  gone  in  state  as  a  general ;  Cyril  had  obtained 
a  commission  in  the  Guards ;  Granville  Budleigh's  address 
had  changed  to  Salisbury  Plain;  dear  old  Uncle  Derek, 
after  volunteering  and  being  refused  for  active  service,  had 
enrolled  himself  as  a  special  constable,  and  elderly  Mr. 
Drysdale  was  driving  an  ambulance  car.  Even  Leonard 
Joyce  had  been  keen  to  go,  until  Emily  put  her  foot 
down. 

Yet  still  Roddy  was  dining  at  crowded  restaurants,  at- 
tending music-halls,  where  there  was  standing-room  only, 
supping  at  the  club,  and  being  fined  for  playing  cards 
after  prohibited  hours.  With  nothing  happening  in  the 
City  he  had  leisure,  and  he  spent  some  of  it  in  visiting 
Granville  Budleigh  at  the  camp  near  Salisbury.  Mrs. 
Budleigh  had  been  down  there,  staying  at  an  hotel,  and 
Roddy  brought  back  a  dreadful  report  of  the  squabbles 
of  these  two,  of  the  lady's  carrying-on  with  subalterns  and 
of  Granville's  furious  jealousy. 

Then  at  last,  in  the  spring,  he  announced  that  he  was 
going. 

"  Claire,'*  he  said  solemnly,  "  you  mustn't  try  to  pre- 
vent me.    I  feel  I've  got  to  do  it." 

Wanting  to  help  the  great  cause  In  the  most  effective 
way  possible,  he  proposed  to  enter  the  Ordnance  depart- 
ment. He  wished  to  use  his  brains;  any  ass  could  get 
killed. 

"  Besides,  I'm  not  as  young  as  I  used  to  be.     Do  you 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  185 

i  er  realize,  Claire,  that  I'm  over  forty?  I  dare  say  I 
(i  )n't  look  it;  but  there  it  is — Amio  Domini — and  you 
r  n't  get  away  from  it." 

Knowing  him  as  well  as  she  did  by  now,  she  was  able  to 
V  »mprehend  both  his  delay  and  his  present  attitude.  It 
^  is  not  that  he  feared  death.  He  was  brave  enough,  but 
li  ?  could  not  act  quite  as  a  gentleman  should.  He  was 
ii  ways  slow  to  see  things  as  gentlemen  see  them  at  once. 

"  Everything  is  done  by  influence,"  he  told  her,  when 
e:  plaining  how  she  was  to  help  him  to  secure  the  sort  of 
jnb  that  he  required.  She  did  all  that  he  directed;  going 
c  I  a  wild-goose  chase  to  crave  assistance  from  friends  at 
ilie  War  Office,  wives  of  Members  of  Parliament,  every- 
l  )dy  judged  by  Roddy  as  capable  of  puUing  a  string. 

Time  passed,  and  then  Roddy  received  an  official  inti- 
iration  that  he  had  been  posted  as  second  lieutenant  to  a 
]<3serve  cavalry  regiment.  He  was  more  than  taken  aback 
by  this  intelligence,  and  he  expressed  himself  gloomily. 
The  authorities  had  muddled  his  case,  as  they  muddled 
everything.    They  would  lose  the  war. 

However,  he  soon  put  a  good  face  on  it,  dressed  himself 
in  khaki,  slapped  his  boots  with  a  swagger  cane,  and  went 
to  Colchester  for  the  very  brief  period  of  training  allowed 
to  such  seasoned  warriors.  The  time  passed  swiftly  for 
('laire  and  Gladys,  and  then  he  was  with  them  again,  on  a 
final  five  days'  leave  before  proceeding  to  France.  Strict 
economy  was  now  to  be  the  watchword,  since  every  penny 
saved  during  his  absence  would  be  a  penny  gained  for 
future  use.  With  lightning  rapidity  he  dismantled  the 
Hay  fair  house,  stored  all  the  furniture,  and  bundled 
( laire,  Gladys,  and  a  maid  into  lodgings  near  the  Edgware 
lload. 

A  marvellous  improvement  had  been  wrought  in  his  air 
iiid  aspect  by  the  change  to  ur^form.  He  was  gay  and 
( ebonair,  a  real  professional  soldier,  with  his  South  Afri- 
can  ribbons  decorating  his  manly  breast.     Claire's  heart 


186  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

warmed  to  him,  and  the  dismissed  maid-servants  admired 
him  prodigiously.  He  swaggered  through  these  last  days, 
combining  the  wind-up  of  business  with  a  terrific  final  jolli- 
fication, in  all  of  which  Claire  had  to  share.  Let  us  eat, 
drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  we  die.  The  dinners, 
theatres,  supper  parties,  piled  high  upon  the  labours  of 
packing  and  moving,  almost  killed  her. 

She  went  with  him  to  the  railway  station  to  see  him  oflF, 
and  there  were  kisses  and  tears  at  parting.  Once  again 
she  was  swept  through  and  through  by  irrational  emotion, 
and  she  felt  and  behaved  as  the  other  wives  who  clung  and 
blubbered  all  along  the  platform.  Something  quite  ele- 
mental ruled  out  thought ;  good  or  bad,  he  was  her  man. 

Roddy,  too,  was  entirely  governed  by  primitive  in- 
stincts, hugging  and  kissing,  patting  her  on  the  back,  and 
telling  her  to  be  brave.  He  leaned  out  of  the  carriage 
window  to  squeeze  her  hand  again,  and  his  last  words  were 
conventional  but  excellent. 

"  Dearest  girl,  if  anything  happens  to  me,  think  kindly 
of  me.    Remember,  I  loved  you." 

He  continued  to  wave  his  hand;  the  moving  train  ear- 
ned him  away  in  a  mist  of  tears. 

He  was  gone,  and  that  night  Claire  slept  like  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  XVn 

[T  was  a  wonderful  respite.    Not  for  six  long  years  had 
she  tasted  such  comfort  and  such  ease.     Alone  with 
her  little  girl,  mistress   of  herself,  unchallenged   in 
1  er  actions,  unfettered  in  her  thoughts,  she  was  perfectly, 
( easelessly  happy. 

She  loyally  fought  against  repeated  recognitions  of  the 
])lain  fact,  although  every  day,  in  every  hour  of  the  day, 
■  he  was  sub-consciously  aware  of  the  fundamental  cause  of 
iier  contentment.  It  was  due  solely  to  his  absence.  This 
\7SiS  what  life  might  still  be,  running  on  in  smooth  and 
simple  joy,  if  there  were  no  Roddy  to  spoil  it. 

The  humble  lodgings  by  the  Edgware  Road  were  as 
splendid  as  any  home  that  she  would  ever  sigh  for;  the 
landlady  took  an  affectionate  interest  in  her  well-being 
and  was  very  kind  to  Gladys.  The  only  care  or  trouble 
in  Claire's  existence  was  a  defective  hot-water  system  that 
made  it  difficult  to  get  her  daughter's  evening  bath  at  the 
right  temperature  and  at  the  right  time. 

"  It's  been  the  same  annoyance  for  fifteen  years,  if 
you'll  believe  me,  ma'am,"  said  the  landlady ;  "  and  the 
same  promises  every  time  I  pay  the  quarter's  rent.  '  The 
matter  shall  receive  immediate  attention,'  and  then  noth- 
ing done.  If  you'd  step  down  into  the  kitchen  I'd  show 
you  where  in  my  opinion  the  mischief  begins.  The  range 
itself,  ma'am !  The  iron  at  the  back  so  thin  that  you  could 
pierce  it  with  a  meat  skewer,  while  the  bubbling  and 
squeaking  of  the  water  in  those  worn-out  pipes  is  enough 
to  scare  one  for  fear  of  an  explosion.  As  I  tell  them,  it's 
no  question  of  repairs.  A  brand-new  set-out  is  wanted. 
But  now  with  the  war  on  people's  hands,  I  suppose  we 
must  just  grin  and  bear  it." 

187 


188  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Claire  reproached  herself  for  not  remembering  always 
the  agony  of  the  world,  for  being  happy  while  others 
wept.  But  in  spite  of  casualty  lists  and  widows'  weeds, 
London  was  a  gay  and  merry  place  in  this  second  summer 
of  the  war.  The  war  itself  was  still  being  treated  in  the 
good-humoured  English  way,  much  as  any  bazaar  or 
charity  fete  had  been  dealt  with  by  kind  and  well-to-do 
folk  in  previous  years.  It  was  the  biggest  bazaar,  of 
course,  that  had  ever  been  organized,  and  in  order  to  make 
it  a  real  success  everybody  must  help.  One  saw  the  evi- 
dence of  helpfulness  in  all  directions. 

All  through  the  winter  large  committees  of  influential 
ladies  had  been  sending  out  comforts,  such  as  neck  scarves 
and  cigarettes,  to  the  original  troops ;  and  now  the  wives 
of  officers  of  the  new  battalions  were  comforting  fresh  ar- 
rivals with  weekly  supplies  of  chicken  galantine  and  potted 
tongue.  All  the  windows  of  shops  like  Fortnum  and 
Mason's,  and  sometimes  the  pavement  outside  the  shops, 
were  stacked  with  useful  contrivances,  knick-knacks,  dain- 
ties, for  our  army  overseas.  Embarrassed  by  the  richness 
of  the  choice,  kind  friends  hesitated  as  to  what  to  select ; 
for  the  dear  men  in  the  trenches  might  not  say,  and  no 
one  at  home  had  yet  guessed,  that  the  only  true  comforts 
one  could  send  would  be  a  few  more  machine  guns  and 
high-explosive  shells. 

No,  it  was  all  very  difficult  to  understand,  and  one  might 
be  pardoned  if  one  sometimes  forgot  to  be  sad.  A  con- 
tagion of  hope  permeated  the  sunlit  air.  Charming  ladies 
busily  shopping  in  Sloane  Street  were  nearly  all  of  them 
optimists,  and  smiled  as  they  told  each  other  that  Ger- 
many would  collapse  before  the  summer  was  over. 

"  Shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised.  My  husband  said  so 
from  the  first.  They'll  go  on  just  as  long  as  they  can, 
and  then  utterly  collapse." 

"  Now  I  oughtn't  to  tell  you  this ;  so  please  don't  let 
it  go  any  further.     But  Ethel  Muir's  brother  is  A.D.C. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  189 

to  ne  of  the  big  generals,  and  in  a  letter  he  said,  ^  Always 
be  )repared  now  for  the  very  best  news.'  Ethel  is  posi- 
ti^  he  meant  Peace.  Of  course,  in  his  position  he'd  see  it 
CO  ing  earlier  than  others,  and  he  wanted  to  relieve  their 
mil  ds,  though  he  didn't  dare  say  more.  The  military  rules 
ar '  so  strict,  even  when  you're  on  the  staff." 

•  Exactly.  Well,  I'm  oflf  to  Hague  House — you  know, 
Mr  5.  Gilmour's.    I  work  there  every  Tuesday." 

•  What  work?" 

•  We're  sending  them  thick  woollen  socks." 

•  But,  my  dear!  Surely  they  can't  want  thick  socks 
in  i  his  warm  weather .?  " 

'No,  I  never  thought  of  that.  But  I  suppose  Mrs. 
Gilrnour  and  Emily  Joyce  know.  Perhaps  the  socks  are 
f o  r  next  winter — if  it  lasts  so  long." 

The  fact  was  that  Mrs.  Gilmour,  after  entertaining 
fojr  wounded  officers  somewhere  out  of  sight  on  an  upper 
floor,  had  seen  that  her  true  line  of  helpfulness  lay  in 
knitting.  It  was  a  quiet  mechanical  exercise,  to  which 
she  had  always  been  addicted  because  one  could  practise 
it  without  altogether  stopping  conversation.  She  there- 
fore set  to  work,  knitting  herself  and  making  others  knit 
also. 

She  spoke  of  her  achievements  with  just  pride,  as  she 
sat  enthroned  as  queen  or  guiding  spirit  of  all  the  ladies 
assembled  at  a  knitting  party.  "  Seventy-eight  thousand 
to  the  beginning  of  May !  Only  I  omitted  to  enter  in  my 
liitle  book  whether  pairs  or  single  socks."  And  letting  her 
ntedles  repose  themselves,  she  regarded  the  company  medi- 
tativel3\  *^  Since  May  there  has  been  no  mistake.  It  is 
all  pairs.  .  .  .  Ah,  here  is  Claire.  Come  in,  dear,  and 
find  a  place.  Your  needles  are  in  the  same  drawer.  Glad 
tc  see  you,  Claire.     Many  hands  make  light  work." 

Claire  enjoyed  these  quiet,  restful  hours  spent  with 
p  easant  companions  in  the  dear  old  morning-room.  The 
w  ndows  stood  open,  with  the  lace  curtains  gently  stirring 


190  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

as  the  warm,  bright  air  streamed  in ;  a  distant  murmur  of 
traffic  developed  now  and  then  to  a  roar  and  rattle  as 
cars  or  lorries  passed  the  house;  and  a  desultory  jhatter 
of  the  half-dozen  friendly  amiable  women  rose  and  fell 
above  the  faint  click  of  the  needles.  Claire  took  little  part 
in  the  conversation,  but  sat  listening,  dreaming,  feeling 
absolutely  at  peace.  Once  or  twice  she  brought  Gladys 
with  her,  and  the  child  sat  close  by  her  side,  behaving  most 
beautifully,  watching  her  mother's  hands  with  grave,  at- 
tentive eyes,  never  seeming  bored,  and  only  when  encour- 
aged launching  the  isolated  statements  of  solid  fact  that 
all  children  produce  with  facility.    As  for  instance : 

"  My  daddy  is  in  France  fighting  the  Germans." 

"  Is  he,  dear?  '*  said  one  of  the  kind,  encouraging  visi- 
tors. "  Very  nice  and  proper  of  him.  Aren't  you  very 
proud  of  him.?  " 

"  I  live  alone  with  my  mummy  not  very  far  from  the 
Marble  Arch.  Not  too  far  for  mummy  and  me  to  walk 
there." 

"  And  you  like  walking  with  mummy,  Vm  sure." 

"  Once  we  lived  in  a  grand  big  house  like  Granny's 
house.  Then  we  lived  in  not  so  big  a  house.  And  now  we 
live  in  a  quite,  quite  small  little  house." 

All  these  remarks  appeared  to  Claire  marvellously  full 
of  wisdom  and  talent,  and  when  Gladys  was  praised  for 
being  so  bright  and  clever,  she  thrilled  and  blushed  with 
happiness.  It  was  so  sweet  to  see  her  darling's  success, 
and  to  know  that  she  was  appreciated  at  her  proper  value. 

There  was  always  a  schoolroom  tea  for  the  afternoon 
knitting  party.  Belton,  now  the  sole  man-servant,  threw 
open  the  doors,  solemnly  announced  that  the  repast  was 
ready,  and  Mrs.  Gilmour,  rendered  brisk  and  sprightly  by 
Belton's  good  news,  led  them  almost  at  a  canter  to  the 
dining-room.  Presiding  at  the  top  of  the  table  she  looked 
at  little  Gladys  perched  high  upon  cushions,  and  held  her 
head  on  one  side  while  she  studied  family  resemblances. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  191 

She  reminds  me  of  you,  Claire,  and  yet  there  is  more 
of  \ngela  in  her  general  aspect.  She  has  poor  Angela's 
fr    ilness,  I  fear." 

Oh,  no,  Mother,  she's  very  well  now,  growing  stronger 
ev  py  day." 

•  I  hope  so,  indeed.  You  were  too  young  to  remember 
Alicia's  red  cloak,  I  suppose?  When  the  winter  comes 
TO  nd,  do  get  her  a  little  Red  Riding-Hood  cloak.  They 
an  so  bright  and  cheerful,  especially  if  there  happens  to 
be  mow  on  the  ground." 

]vlrs.  Gilmour  presided  over  the  tea-pots,  but  nearly  all 
th:  pouring  out  of  tea  was  done  by  Belton  and  Emily 
Jcyce.  Emily,  as  a  rule,  arrived  just  in  time  for  tea, 
g€f  erally  rather  warm,  looking  like  a  large  overblown 
pe(»ny;  and  she  nearly  always  was  further  bursting  with 
fa  tastic  incredible  tidings.  She  herself  called  these  tales 
*'  smres." 

''  This  is  the  latest  scare  brought  home  by  Leonard.  I 
give  it  to  you  for  what  it's  worth.  You  know  that  Leon- 
ard is  helping  the  Government  as  legal  adviser  to  one  of 
th3  recruiting  committees?  Yes.  Well,  the  last  scare 
is -" 

Once  she  brought  them  a  report  that  the  Guards  had 
mutinied  and  refused  to  go  into  battle.  It  seemed  that 
th3y  loathed  the  khaki  uniforms  and  resented  being  made 
to  wear  them.  They  wanted  to  be  given  back  their  red 
tunics  and  their  bear-skins,  the  things  they  had  worn  when 
th}y  charged  at  Waterloo  and  everywhere  else;  and  they 
svfore  they  would  not  charge  again  in  any  oth^r  costume. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  blame  them,"  and  Emily  laughed. 
"  )f  course  it's  a  breach  of  discipline,  but  it  shows  their 
spirit." 

Mrs.  Gilmour,  however,  suddenly  took  umbrage  at  this 
sc  ire.  The  Guards  would  never  commit  a  breach  of  dis- 
ci )line.  Since  Cyril  had  joined  the  Guards  she  would  not 
ht  ar  one  word  against  them. 


192  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  And  you  do  not  think,  Emily,  how  damaging,  how 
really  wrong  it  is  to  spread  such  canards.  You  just  blurt 
it  out  without  considering  how  it  would  put  heart  into  the 
enemy  if  they  believed  the  Guards  could  ever  fail.  You  do 
not  consider  how  we  are  surrounded  by  spies  " — and  Mrs. 
Gilmour  looked  severely  at  her  guests—"  any  one  of  whom 
would  be  too  ready  to  convey  such  intelligence." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Gilmour,"  said  one  of  the  guests,  smiling, 
"  you  surely  don't  suspect  any  of  us  of  being 
spies.'* " 

"  Of  course  not.  But  one  cannot  be  too  careful,"  and 
Mrs.  Gilmour  turned  a  glassy  stare  upon  Belton. 

It  was  curious,  but  she  seemed  to  suffer  little  uneasiness 
on  Cyril's  account,  although  she  showed  great  maternal 
pride  in  his  so  far  successful  career  as  a  soldier.  Perhaps 
she  felt  that  in  some  respects  he  v/as  safer  out  there  than 
over  here,  and  that  on  the  whole  Germans  were  less  dan- 
gerous than  actresses.  "  The  war,"  she  said  significantly, 
"  has  removed  him  from  undesirable  influences.  It  has 
given  him  another  point  of  view,  and  has  steadied  him. 
All  the  dear  boy  ever  needed  was  steadying, ^^ 

She  carried  his  letters  about  with  her  in  her  pocket — 
or  rather  she  intended  so  to  carry  them,  but  generally  mis- 
laid them.  When  they  were  found  and  restored  to  her,  she 
would  seize  the  opportunity  of  reading  them  aloud;  and 
Claire,  listening  to  one  of  these  recitals,  was  astounded  by 
Cyril's  new  tone  and  manner.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
that  his  mental  attitude  was  greatly  changed.  He  wrote 
with  almost  pompous  sobriety,  speaking  only  of  lofty 
things;  seeming  to  have  become  very  religious,  and  ask- 
ing that  certain  pious  volumes  together  with  a  few  modern 
poems  might  be  despatched  to  him  forthwith. 

Round  the  comer  in  Hans  Place  Aunt  Agnes  mocked  at 
her  sister's  knitting,  at  Cyril's  conversion,  and  at  many 
other  developments  of  the  day. 

*'  We  are  so  stupid,  Claire,"  she  said  sweetly — ^'  as    a 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  193 

ii ;  ion,  I  mean.  So  incurably  stupid,  that  I  wonder  if  any 
le-  on,  however  terrible,  would  be  sufficient  to  knock  a 
li  le  common  sense  into  us.  You  don't  expect  the  war  to 
ei  I  quickly,  do  you,  Claire?  How  can  it  end  quickly  un- 
le  5  the  Germans  beat  us  ?  And  I'm  not  sure  that  it 
w   aldn't  be  the  best  thing  to  happen  to  us." 

'  Oh,  Aunt  Agnes !    How  can  you — even  in  joke.?  " 

'  I'm  not  joking,"  said  Miss  Graham  very  gently. 
^'  ]  t's  what  we  deserve.  .  .  .  How  do  you  get  on  with 
yo  ir  nursing,  dear.'^  " 

''  Quite  all  right.  Aunt  Agnes.  But  they  don't  seem 
tc  want  me  a  great  deal  as  yet." 

''  They  mill  want  you,  dear.  They'll  want  everybody 
be  ore  they  have  done." 

Miss  Graham  was  giving  bed  and  board  to  relays  of  nice 
gills  while  they  underwent  training  as  nurses.  She  had 
sent  Claire  to  do  a  preliminary  course  with  two  of  the 
girls,  and  had  introduced  her  to  Lady  Pevensea's  grand 
hoase  in  Arlington  Street,  now  turned  into  a  Red  Cross 
hospital.  Claire  used  to  go  there  as  often  as  employment 
could  be  found  for  her,  and  was  well  content  to  perform 
the  humble  tasks  of  housemaid  or  charwoman  until  such 
days  as  she  might  be  required  for  higher  duties.  With  all 
her  time  her  own,  she  had  enough  for  much  beyond  the 
care  of  Gladys. 

Not  the  least  of  the  pleasures  given  by  her  unwonted 
freedom  was  the  renewal  of  easy  intercourse  with  Aunt 
A^es.  It  seemed  to  her  sometimes,  when  she  had  run  in 
uj)on  her  aunt  as  she  used  to  do  y^ars  ago,  and  they  sat 
talking  together  in  the  room  with  the  latticed  bookcases, 
tl  at  but  for  the  ever-present  sense  of  motherhood  she 
would  feel  as  young  now  as  then.  Miss  Graham  never 
reminded  her  of  intervening  cares  or  worries  by  the  slight- 
est; allusion  to  her  husband.  Not  once  did  she  make  any 
pc  lite  inquiries  concerning  the  absent  warrior,  and  when 
ai  ter  some  time  Claire  noticed  this  very  marked  remiss- 


194  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

ness  and  purposely  spoke  of  him,  Miss  Graham  got  rid  of 
the  subject  with  the  fewest  possible  words. 

"  Oh,  you  think  he  is  somewhere  by  the  coast  ?  Etaples  ? 
Very  likely.    But  what  were  we  talking  about  just  now?  '^ 

Did  Aunt  Agnes  suspect  that  Claire  was  getting  on  very 
comfortably  without  her  Roddy?  Had  she  long  since 
guessed  at  hidden  distress?  From  Claire's  lips  there  had 
fallen  no  whispered  hint  of  any  cause  for  complaint;  no 
failure  of  loyalty  had  ever  betrayed  her  into  helping  Aunt 
Agnes  to  understand  the  situation.  But  Aunt  Agnes 
knew;  and  Claire  was  painfully  sure  that  she  knew  after 
a  characteristic  little  generalizing  speech  that  she  made 
when  they  were  alone  one  September  evening. 

She  had  praised  Claire's  good  looks,  saying  it  was  a  joy 
to  see  her  with  a  little  colour  in  her  cheeks,  a  more  healthy 
and  robust  appearance  altogether.  "  What  magic  medi- 
cine have  you  beeil  taking,  dear? "  she  asked,  smiling 
archly  and  yet  tenderly. 

Then  she  burst  out,  in  her  usual  quiet  tone  but  with 
strong  feeling.  "  Wliat  brutes  and  beasts  men  are,  nearly 
all  of  them.  And  what  humbugs  we  are,  every  one  of  us,  to 
sliirk  the  truth  and  not  say  it  boldly.  Humbug — it  comes 
into  everything  English:  our  politics,  our  literature,  our 
homes,  our  churches,  even  our  obituary  advertisements. 
^*  Dearly  beloved  husband !  "  "  Deeply  mourned !  '* 
*^  Never  to  be  forgotten!"  I  met  that  Mrs.  Kennedy 
this  morning  making  a  long  mouth  and  telling  me  her 
agony  of  mind  because  her  husband  has  gone  to  the  front 
— and  as  pleased  as  Punch,  really  and  truly.  I  hadn't 
patience  to  answer  her.  Of  course  she  hateg  him,  and  with 
good  cause,  too,  probably. 

"Why  should  we  pretend?  It's  too  hollow.  As  I  go 
about  I  rejoice  in  the  sight  of  the  happy,  happy  wives. 
For  one  who  is  sorry,  nine  are  glad.  Look  at  the  women 
you  see  in  the  streets.  Look  at  their  radiant,  smiling 
faces.    The  tyrants  are  gone.     And  the  young  girls,  too, 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  195 

tl  y  are  quickly  emancipating  themselves.  The  stupid 
fr  hers  are  no  longer  here  curbing  and  stifling  them.  This 
w  r,  Claire,  is  the  woman's  chance,  and,  whatever  they  say, 
tl  y  are  going  to  take  it.  They  are  breaking  the  bonds, 
ail  pray  that  they'll  never  go  back  to  prison.'^ 

VVhether  Aunt  Agnes  might  prove  right  or  wrong  in 
til  s  general  forecast,  there  was  certainly  among  Claire's 
a<'  luaintance  a  young  woman  who,  although  her  husband 
htl  not  crossed  the  water,  appeared  to  be  fast  breaking 
h<  •  bonds,  alid  also  to  be  determined  not  to  go  back  to 
p'ison.  This  was  Mrs.  Granville  Budleigh,  whom  Claire 
m(t  again  at  Lady  Pevensea's  hospital.  She  was  in  the 
h  j'^hest  possible  spirits,  looking  very  handsome  in  the 
n virse's  costume,  with  her  copper-brown  hair  glowing  bril- 
liintly  and  her  blue  eyes  and  red  lips  taking  vivid  colour 
b^^ieath  the  becoming  white  head-dress.  Obviously  she  oc- 
c\ipied  herself  more  in  lively  flirtations  with  the  wounded 
ho  roes  or  their  medical  advisers,  than  in  the  dull  routine  of 
actual  nursing,  and  Lady  Pevensea's  matrons  were  not 
too  well  pleased  with  her.  Cognizant  of  this  fact  herself, 
she  told  Claire  that  she  did  not  propose  to  wait  till  she  got 
the  sack,  but  intended  to  push  out  to  France,  where  she 
would  obtain  heaps  more  fun  and  excitement. 

"  I  get  on  better  with  men,"  she  explained  gaily,  ^'  ex- 
cerpt with  one  of  them.  But  then  Jack  isn't  really  a  man. 
He's  a  subtle  combination  of  an  old  woman,  a  wild  ele- 
phant, and  a  dissenting  parson.  Simply  impossible! 
L  ook  here !  I'll  show  you  a  letter  I  had  from  him  a  week 
a^o.  No,  I  want  you  to  read  it.  Please,  to  oblige  me. 
If  ou  know  his  people,  you'll  probably  hear  them  talking 
a  bout  us  again.    You  ought  to  know  what  he  is." 

And  against  her  inclination,  Claire  was  compelled  to 
r  ?ad  the  letter. 

Granville  Budleigh,  permanently  engaged  on  Home 
^  ervice,  wrote  from  Colchester.  He  began  by  saying  that 
I  e  was  prepared  to  condone  and  pardon  the  entire  past  on 


196  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

certain  conditions;  but  before  entering  further  into  the 
conditions,  he  demanded  categorical  answers  to  the  follow- 
ing questions.  Then  the  questions  followed,  a  long  string 
of  them.  (1)  Would  she  frankly  own  that  she  was  wrong? 
(2)  Would  she  with  equal  candour  admit  that  he  was 
right?  (3)  Would  she  undertake  to  discontinue  her  habit 
of  interruption,  contradiction,  and  impertinent  comment 
when  he  was  talking  to  other  people?  (4)  Would  she  at 
once  cease  all  communication  of  every  sort  and  kind  with 
Lieutenant  D.  B.,  cutting  that  gentleman  dead  if  she  hap- 
pened to  meet  him  in  a  public  place  ?  And  so  on,  right  into 
double  numbers. 

Claire,  handing  the  letter  back  without  any  criticism, 
asked  Mrs.  Budleigh  what  reply  she  had  made  to  it. 

"  I  told  him  to  go  to  the  devil,"  said  Mrs.  Budleigh 
firmly.    "  Just  that,  my  dear,  and  nothing  more." 

"But  how  will  he  take  such  a  defiance?  Aren't  you 
afraid  of  driving  him  to — well,  to  extreme  measures?  " 

"  Oh,  Master  Jack  knows  there  isn't  any  chance  to  be 
got  out  of  it.  If  he  doesn't  return  to  his  senses,  he'll  have 
only  himself  to  thank.  I  told  him  from  the  beginning  that 
if  he  played  the  fool  I  should  chuck  him." 

And  again  came  the  puzzling,  enigmatic  smile  that 
Claire  had  noticed  before  with  wonder.  It  seemed  to  imply 
absolute  confidence  and  strength,  as  if  in  some  inexplicable 
mysterious  manner  Mrs.  Budleigh  felt  herself  to  be  above 
all  ordinary  laws  and  customs,  self-governing,  unassail- 
able. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THIS  year  the  long  bright  summer  seemed  to  con- 
tinue indefinitely.  November  opened  and  the  sun 
still  shone,  and  still  Claire  was  happy  and  at 
pc<'  ce.  She  and  Gladys  walked  in  the  park  with  orange- 
tin  :ed  leaves  dancing  round  them,  came  hand  in  hand  along 
th;  now  wind-swept  pavement  of  the  Edgware  Road, 
turned  into  the  quiet  shelter  of  their  by-street,  and  saw  the 
shabby  little  house  that  they  both  loved  because  it  was 
th:ir  perfect  undisturbed  home.  They  were  both  well. 
T  lis  north  side  of  the  park  was  so  healthy  that  the  child 
had  not  suffered  by  missing  the  usual  holiday  in  sea  air. 
T  le  landlady  was  more  and  more  kind  and  affectionate. 
Even  the  defective  water  pipes  did  not  really  matter. 

Then  in  an  hour  their  peace  and  comfort  vanished. 
Without  preliminary  warning  Roddy  had  come  home  on 
leuve. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  arrived.  He 
wanted  at  once  a  hot  bath,  a  blazing  hot  bath,  and  his 
bellowing  protests,  on  failing  to  obtain  it,  changed  Mrs. 
Morris,  the  landlady,  from  an  affectionate  friend  into  the 
very  indignant  proprietress  of  a  slandered  lodging-house. 
H3  wanted  his  buttons  and  buckles  polished,  so  that  they 
would  shine  like  fire  at  dinner,  and  he  made  Claire's  maid 
shed  tears  by  his  comments  on  her  feeble  efforts  to  achieve 
the  desired  end.  He  wanted  the  little  bed  that  Gladys 
occupied  in  her  mother's  room  to  be  carted  out  of  the 
w  ly  immediately ;  and  when  the  child  clung  to  Claire's 
skirts  and  entreated  not  to  be  banished,  he  frightened  her 
01 1  of  her  wits  by  vowing  that  if  she  did  not  behave  her- 
self  he  would  take  her  to  France  and  drop  her  into  the 
fij  st  trench  he  saw  there. 

197 


198  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Pack  her  off,  old  girl.  Stop  squalling,  you  little  ass. 
Let  her  sleep  with  What's-her-Name.  This  is  daddy's  and 
mummy's  room  now.  Daddy  and  mummy  want  to  be  all 
alone  together." 

In  the  midst  of  the  turmoil  and  confusion  that  he  had 
so  suddenly  created,  he  was  quite  unconscious  of  disturb- 
ing anybody  otherwise  than  pleasurably.  He  was  really 
bubbling  over  with  gladness  and  good-humour.  He  never 
stopped  talking,  as  he  followed  Claire  about  while  she 
superintended  the  catastrophic  changes  of  domestic  ar- 
rangement that  had  become  necessary. 

"  Don't  you  fuss,  old  girl.  Give  your  orders,  and  tell 
'em  they've  jolly  well  got  to  carry  them  out.  Put  on  your 
very  best  togs,  and  off  we  go.  You  shall  have  the  best 
dinner  in  London  to-night,  or  my  name's  not  Captain 
Vaughan.  Were  you  proud  when  you  heard  they'd  made 
me  a  captain  .^^  Oh,  by  Jove,  Claire,  this  is  ail  right,  and 
no  mistake,"  and  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms  again. 

His  embraces  were  so  violently  amorous  that,  after 
almost  suffocating  her,  he  left  her  face  smarting  as  if  it 
had  been  stung  all  over  with  nettles. 

"  Truly  glad  to  see  me.?  But  why  do  I  ask?  "  he  said 
fondly.  "There  was  no  time  to  tell  you  I  was  coming. 
Only  got  my  leave  yesterday  morning.  I  might  have  wired 
from  Folkestone,  but  then  I  thought  I'd  let  you  have  the 
jolly  surprise.  Now  come  on.  Be  nippy  and  change  your 
things.  Never  mind  the  kid.  She  can  say  her  prayers 
without  you  for  once.  These  seven  days  belong  to  poor 
old  Roddy.  Claire,  you've  been  a  brick,  the  way  you've 
carried  on  and  kept  the  home  fires  burning.  Living  so 
gloriously  cheap,  too,  and  saving  up  all  our  money! 
Well,  we'll  blow  a  bit  of  it  now.  I  mean  to  give  you  a 
royal  time  in  these  seven  days." 

That  first  night  he  took  her  to  his  beloved  hotel  in  Picca- 
dilly. There  was  a  little  unpleasantness  on  arrival  when 
Roddy  told  the  taxi-cab  driver  that  he  was  an  extortionate 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  199 

sc(  ndrel,  and  that  if  he  had  him  in  France  he  would  give 
hii  Field  Punishment  No.  1.  Then  soon  they  were  seated 
op  3site  to  each  other  as  in  those  old  days.  The  big  room 
wa  as  crowded  as  ever,  a  band  of  some  kind  was  making 
Bo  y  music,  and  the  same  head  waiter  or  manager  came 
sm  ing  to  their  table.  Roddy  greeted  him  with  boisterous 
delirht. 

'  Carlos,  you  old  bounder,  how  are  you?  " 

'  Very  well,  thank  you,  sair.  And  I  hcpe  I  see  you  in 
go«i  1  health,  and  madame,"  said  Mr.  Carlos,  bowing. 

Upon  my  word,  Carlos,  you  are  a  sight  for  sore  eyes," 
and  Roddy  laughed  and  rubbed  his  hands  together.  "  Ly- 
in^  out  there  in  the  mud  and  the  rain,  with  the  shells  bai^- 
in^  and  bursting,  I've  often  thought  of  you." 

*  That  is  a  vairy  kind  compliment,  sair,  and  I  ap- 
pr-i-r-e-ciate  it." 

^  Then  show  your  apr-r-r-eciation,"  said  Roddy,  imi- 
taling  him  merrily,  "  by  providing  me  and  my  missus  with 
your  tip-toppest  thing  in  dinners,  and  the  best  champagne 
on  your  list." 

Indeed,  if  Ke  could  have  eaten  two  dinners  at  the  same 
tinie  he  would  gladly  have  done  so.  If  he  could  have 
sm3ked,  too,  as  well  as  talking  with  his  mouth  full,  he 
wo  aid  have  been  still  more  content.  He  was  greedy  to 
atiain  all  possible  pleasures  at  once.  He  had  come  home 
to  enjoy  himself,  and  his  only  fear  was  that  he  would  not 
sqi^eeze  sufficient  enjoyment  into  the  narrow  space  of  time 
at  his  disposal. 

'  Claire,  does  this  animated  scene  take  you  back  into 
th(  past.^  It  does  me.  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  what  it 
means  after  roughing  it  out  there?  Claire,  lean  forward 
so  that  I  can  whisper.  I  know  you  hate  letting  other  folk 
into  our  sentimental  confidences.  Well,  I  feel  towards^ 
ycj  just  exactly  as  I  did  on  our  honeymoon,"  and  his 
vo  ce  vibrated  with  emotion.  "  We'll  make  it  a  honey- 
in<^on,  eh?" 


200  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Claire  looked  at  the  table-cloth.  She  dared  not  meet 
his  eyes,  lest  he  should  read  the  apprehension  and  repug- 
nance in  her  own. 

"  You  haven't  said  a  word  about  my  appearance. 
Don't  I  look  fit,  Claire,  and  young  too?  Look  at  me,  old 
lady.  Aren't  I  quite  the  juvenile  Roddy  again — the  one 
that  took  your  fancy  when  you  first  saw  him.^  " 

She  looked  at  him  now.  His  words  had  strangely 
fallen  into  the  w^orkings  of  her  actual  thought.  Physically 
he  was  without  doubt  improved.  He  was  well-trimmed  and 
neat,  like  a  plant  that,  after  beginning  to  run  to  seed,  had 
been  severely  pruned  by  stem  gardeners.  The  regular  life 
of  a  soldier,  discipline,  comparative  abstinence  and  tem- 
perance, had  all  done  him  good.  He  was  stronger  and 
more  healthy. 

But  the  man  himself?  Was  it  possible  that  he  had 
always  been  like  this?  It  was  not  merely  his  loudness,  or 
the  almost  bullying  non-commissioned  officer  swagger,  or 
the  wolflike  hunger  for  food ;  it  was  the  overwhelming  vul- 
garity of  mind,  the  incredible  coarseness  of  feeling.  He 
seemed  to  her  fantastic,  like  a  man  on  the  stage  actmg 
vulgarity,  or  like  somebody  carrying  through  a  carefully 
planned  and  rather  heartless  practical  joke  in  order  to 
frighten  a  hypersensitive  relative — the  man  who  comes 
home  after  a  long  absence  and  puts  on  a  grotesque  dis- 
guise before  entering  the  family  circle.  Would  he  sud- 
denly laugh  and  say :  "  It's  all  right,  Claire.  Only  my 
fun.    I'm  not  really  as  bad  as  this  ?  " 

"  Claire,  you  aren't  doing  justice  to  the  wine.  Come 
on.  No  heel-taps.  Here's  to  Victory  and  a  Glorious 
Peace !  It  can't  come  too  soon  for  Captain  R.  V."  And 
he  boasted  of  his  regiment  and  those  tip-toppers,  his 
brother  officers.  "  You  may  think  cavalry  has  taken  a 
back  seat  in  this  war.  But  you  give  us  half  a  chance 
and  you  see  how  we'll  roll  up  the  line.  Though,  between 
you  and  me,  Claire,  I  only  regard  my  present  job  as  pro 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  201 

^7W.  I  ought  to  be  on  the  Staff,  and  mean  to  get  there, 
.nd  if  not  that,  there  are  plenty  of  other  snug  billets 
'here  you  can  be  smothered  in  decorations  without  even 
melling  powder.  I'll  dodge  the  bullets  if  I  can,  for  your 
;  ake,  my  poppet.'' 

During  the  whole  of  his  leave  he  only  spoke  in  a  lofty  or ' 
(  orrect  manner  on  one  subject.  That  was  when  he  talked 
^  dth  contempt  of  profiteering.  After  a  visit  to  the  city  he 
e  aid  he  was  disgusted  with  what  he  saw  there.  People 
^^ere  just  as  much  "on  the  make"  as  they  ever  were. 
'?heir  patriotism  was  gammon  and  spinach;  they  were 
( ynically  exploiting  their  country's  misfortune  to  pile  up 
ill-gotten  gains.  And  it  was  the  same  thing  in  all  the 
shops.  Everywhere  you  were  overcharged;  everywhere  you 
met  hypocritical  brutes  who  tried  to  "  do  you  in  "  while 
])raising  you  for  gallantly  facing  death  for  them. 

He  denounced  these  bad  citizens  on  every  occasion,  talk- 
ing to  waiters,  hall  porters,  anybody,  about  this  scandal 
of  the  hour.  "  Shirkers,  slackers,  from  the  word  Go. 
Dodging  out  of  doing  their  bit,  and  then  bumping  up 
prices  and  growing  fat  in  smug  security.  Talk  about  the 
Germans !  I  regard  these  selfish  sharks  as  a  dashed  sight 
worse." 

True  to  his  word,  he  made  Claire  take  her  full  share  of 
the  royal  time  that  he  had  promised.  Luncheons,  dinners, 
suppers,  theatres,  music-halls,  even  dance  clubs — he  let 
her  off  nothing.  Except  for  brief  jollifications  with  men 
friends,  he  kept  her  always  with  him. 

"  Oh,  how  the  time  flies !  Would  you  believe  it,  Claire.'^ 
Four  days  gone  already." 

She  could  believe.     It  seemed  to  her  like  four  years. 
He  had  promised  great  treats  for  his  daughter,  too; 
Dut,   carried   along   in   the  whirling  torrent   of  his    own 
gaieties,  he  allowed  Gladys  to  remain  stationary  on  the 
shore  until  the  leave  was  nearly  ended. 

On  this  his  last  day  he  said  he  would  be  occupied  with 


202  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

business;  but  when  Claire  came  home  before  luncheon, 
she  heard  that  he  had  returned  to  the  house  unexpectedly 
and  taken  Miss  Gladys  for  a  stroll.  She  went  out  again  to 
look  for  them,  then  hurried  back  to  the  lodgings  and 
waited  for  them  there.  Of  course,  he  knew  that  it  was  now 
long  past  the  child's  dinner-time;  he  would  bring  her  in 
at  any  moment,  laughing  and  happy.  It  was  absurd  to 
feel  anxious. 

But  the  trouble  was  that  Gladys  had  gone  out  insuf- 
ficiently clad,  with  only  her  little  cloth  jacket  instead  of 
her  thick-lined  cloak,  and  a  rather  keen  wind  was  blowing. 
She  might  easily  catch  cold  on  this  sort  of  day. 

They  did  not  come  back,  not  by  two  o'clock,  not  by 
three  o'clock,  and  thence  onwards  Glaire  suffered  a  tor- 
ment of  anxiety.  Terrible  fears  as  to  the  cause  and 
possible  explanations  of  their  absence  alternately  flashed 
in  vivid  pictures  through  her  mind.  At  dusk  she  was  pac- 
ing up  and  down  outside  the  house.  He  would  not,  he 
could  not,  keep  Gladys  out  now  that  the  daylight  was  fad- 
ing.    But  darkness  fell,  and  still  they  did  not  return. 

Then  for  some  time  she  was  possessed  by  a  cold  and 
rigid  sort  of  panic.  Something  terrible  and  irrevocable 
had  happened,  and  it  only  remained  to  learn  the  worst. 
She  hurried  out  of  the  by-street,  talked  to  policemen  at 
the  crossings  in  front  of  the  Marble  Arch,  talked  to  the 
guardian  at  the  park  gates.  Then  she  sprang  into  a  cab, 
told  the  driver  to  take  her  to  New  Scotland  Yard,  and 
after  going  a  short  distance,  leaned  out  of  the  window 
and  asked  to  be  taken  back  again. 

Perhaps  now  she  would  find  them  safe  ^at  the  lodgings. 

They  were  not  there.  And  she  broke  down  in  tears. 
The  panic  fear  had  gone,  and  an  immense  desolation  filled 
her  aching  heart.  Why  had  he  done  this  unspeakably 
cruel  thing,  to  take  her  fragile,  delicate  child  out  of  her 
care?  Why  had  he  brutally  exposed  her  precious  darling 
to  unknown,  unmeasured  risks? 


FOR  BETTER,  POR  WORSE  203 

I  was  seven  o'clock  when  he  brought  her  back.  Claire 
at  he  door  of  the  taxi-cab  took  her  into  her  arms  and 
car  ied  her  up  the  steps  to  the  narrow  gas-lit  hall. 

"  We  have  had  a  rare  jaunt,  and  she's  thoroughly  en.- 
jov  d  herself,"  said  Roddy,  "  but  I  am  afraid  she's  a  bit 
tir   I." 

:-  he  was  crying  piteously,  trembling  and  cold,  all  limp 
fro  1 1  fatigue.  Her  boots  and  stockings  were  wet  and 
tnu  -stained;  she  had  lost  her  gloves,  and  her  little  hands 
fel  like  ice  against  her  mother's  face. 
^  V  resent ly  Roddy  came  to  the  upper  room  where  Claire 
and  the  maid,  both  on  their  knees,  were  pulling  off  the  wet 
stockings,  rubbing  her  feet  with  towels;  and  between  the 
puif  s  of  a  cigarette  he  told  the  tale  of  their  adventures. 

'I 'he  idea  had  suddenly  occurred  to  him  to  take  her  to 
bhe  Zoological  Gardens.  He  had  fed  her  there,  and  they 
iiad  studied  the  animals  exhaustively.  "  She  loved  it, 
Claire.  I  carried  her  on  my  shoulder  through  the  lion 
hioiuse,  and  after  a  preliminary  squall  she  was  as  plucky  as 
[jould  be."  Then,  not  being  able  to  get  a  cab,  they  had 
^oiie  by  omnibus  to  Piccadilly, 

''Outside  the  omnibus  or  inside?"  asked  Claire,  with 
lier  head  down,  rubbing  the  child's  legs. 

'•Outside." 

'•  And  how  did  she  wet  her  feet.'^  " 

'•  Oh,  that  must  have  been  going  across  the  long  grass 
in  i  he  Regent's  Park,  taking  a  short  cut.  We  ran,  didn't 
5^e,  little  lady.?" 

'And  after  that.?" 

ilfter  that,  it  seemed,  he  had  taken  her  to  a  friend's  flat, 
an(  I  then  on  to  his  club.  He  left  her  in  the  hall  of  the  club 
in  t'harge  of  the  porter,  and,  yes,  he  had  certainly  left  her 
there  longer  than  he  intended.  Had  he  given  her  any 
mo  -e  food  since  their  meal  in  the  Gardens  ?  No,  it  had  not 
Dcc  urred  to  him  to  provide  afternoon  tea,  not  having  the 
aft  imoon  tea  habit  himself.     Moreover,  he  had  fully  in* 


204  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

tended  to  bring  her  home  much  earlier,  but  pals  had  be- 
guiled him  at  the  club. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  feeling  distinctly  fed  up  with 
Claire's  curt  questions,  "  it's  time  to  think  of  dinner. 
You'd  better  change  your  dress,  unless  you  purposely 
want  to  keep  me  waiting." 

"  Don't  wait,"  said  Claire  in  the  same  abrupt  tone,  and 
without  looking  at  him.     "  I  am  not  going  with  you." 

"  Not  coming  with  me  ?  Do  you  really  mean  that  ?  " 
He  felt  incredulous,  outraged,  and  then  very  angry,  when 
Claire  persisted  in  her  determination  to  stay  at  home  with 
Gladys. 

"  My  last  night  in  England?  Well,  by  Jove,  that's  the 
limit !    No,  I'm  hanged !    That's  too  much !  " 

"  I  can't  help  it.    I  am  afraid  Gladys  is  going  to  be  ill." 

"  Rubbish !  The  kid's  all  right.  What  are  you  fussing 
about?  "  And  he  went  downstairs  protesting  to  the  uni- 
verse against  Claire's  treatment  of  him.  He  had  done 
more  than  could  have  been  expected  of  ninety-nine  fathers 
out  of  a  hundred,  he  had  wasted  the  whole  of  his  last  after- 
noon in  England,  he  had  sacrificed  himself  to  please  Claire, 
and  this  was  his  reward. 

Very  late  at  night  he  came  up  to  the  room  again,  but 
Claire  refused  to  leave  her  child's  bedside.  Gladys  was 
shivering  and  yet  feverish,  sleepless  and  light-headed, 
haunted  by  visions  of  monstrous  beasts  and  reptiles. 

Early  in  the  morning  he  came  for  the  last  time,  to  in- 
quire if  Claire  really  and  truly  intended  to  let  him  go  to 
the  railway  station  without  escort. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Claire  in  a  hard  voice.  "  But 
Gladys  is  in  a  high  fever,  and  I  am  waiting  for  the 
doctor." 

Next  day  Aunt  Agnes  received  an  agonized  note  from 
Claire  telling  her  that  Gladys  had  double  pneumonia,  and 
for  three  long  weeks  the  child  lay  between  life  and  death. 
Then  very  slowly  she  recovered.     Towards  the  end  of 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  205 

D    ember  Miss  Graham  took  her  and  her  mother  to  Tor- 
qi    y,  since  Cannes  or  Mentone  was  out  of  the  question. 

7he  child  got  well  again,  and  the  doctors  told  Claire 
tb  t,  so  far  as  the  pneumonia  was  concerned,  she  need  have 
n(  anxiety.  The  disease  had  left  no  after  effects ;  the 
litile  girl's  constitution  and  health  prospects  were  just 
whit  they  had  been  before  the  illness.  Only  they  hinted 
Ah  kly  that  these  prospects  had  never  been  as  hopeful  as 
m^,'ht  be  wished.  There  was  something,  vague  as  yet,  that 
th  y  did  not  quite  like.  The  child's  state,  in  their  opinion, 
ootid  not  be  described  as  normal;  she  herself  was  not 
ex !  .ctly  as  other  children  of  her  age.  They  did  not  desire 
ui  luly  to  alarm  Mrs.  Vaughan,  but  they  thought  she 
shculd  understand  that  the  child  would  require  care  and 
attention.  Climate  would  be  of  little  consequence;  she 
would  do  as  well  in  London  as  anywhere  else. 

Claire  took  her  back  to  Mrs.  Morris's  lodgings  after 
Cliristmas,  and  this  second  winter  of  the  war  crept  heavily 
to\7ards  the  long-retarded  spring. 

Perhaps  the  illness  had  truly  left  no  traces,  but,  never- 
theless, Claire  could  not  forgive  her  husband.  She  thought 
of  him  now  as  the  enemy,  the  implacable  foe  to  joy,  no  less 
df  ngerous  to  her  child  than  to  herself.  In  reply  to  his 
lei.ters  she  wrote  to  him  without  a  pretence  of  affection. 

He  regularly  reported  his  doings.  He  had  achieved  his 
original  ambition,  and,  having  left  the  regiment,  was  now 
er  gaged  on  ordnance  work.  He  had  a  good  billet  and  a 
nice  French  woman  who  cooked  for  him  beautifully,  but 
still  the  war  was  not  a  picnic.  Going  up  to  inspect  a 
dump  not  very  far  from  the  line,  a  German  shell  had  hit 
tl  e  road  just  after  he  had  passed,  not  two  hundred  yards 
behind  his  car.  Claire,  glancing  at  Gladys,  brooding  on 
tl  e  past  and  on  the  future,  would  not  look  into  her  own 
h  art ;  perhaps  afraid  of  seeing  there  the  terrible  thought 
tl  at  they  two  would  be  safer  if  the  shell  had  burst  when 
tl  e  car  was  passing  instead  of  after  it  had  gone  by. 


206      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

If  such  wicked  thoughts  could  indeed  force  a  secret  lodg- 
ment in  her  gentle  breast,  it  was  soon  swept  clean  and  pure 
again.  One  day  in  March  she  received  an  official  telegram 
telling  her  that  Captain  Roderick  Vaughan  was  wounded. 
Imediately  she  had  a  great  revulsion  of  feeling.  While 
she  had  been  selfishly  brooding  on  her  wrongs,  he  had  been 
making  the  supreme  payment.  Perhaps  even  now  he  had 
given  his  life  for  his  country. 

But  a  visit  to  the  War  Office  reassured  her.  He  was 
only  slightly  wounded.  Then  after  three  days  she  had 
news  in  his  own  handwriting.  The  wound  was  very  slight 
indeed — merely  a  shell  splinter  catching  him  on  the  fleshy 
part  of  the  thigh.  She  need  not  be  afraid:  he  was  in 
hospital,  well  nursed,  very  comfortable. 

A  month  later,  on  the  first  fine  morning  in  April,  when 
she  and  Gladys,  carefully  muffled,  returned  from  a  short 
walk,  they  found  a  cab  standing  outside  the  door.  The 
cabman  was  lifting  a  huge  Wolseley  valise;  the  steps  in 
front  of  the  door  were  piled  with  a  mountain  of  kit,  from 
which  rolled  like  small  landslips  such  trifles  as  canvas 
buckets,  folded  chairs,  despatch  cases ;  and  in  the  hall 
stood  Roddy,  bluffs  and  loud,  a  highly-tinted  picture  of 
rude  health.  Next  moment  Claire  was  crushed  against  the 
rough  cloth  of  his  tunic  and  the  hard  edge  of  his  chest 
strap,  while  her  hat  went  backwards  and  her  hair-net 
broke  beneath  the  forceful  ardour  of  his  embrace. 

"  On  sick  leave  .^^  "  she  gasped. 

"  No,  home  for  good.    I'm  clean  out  of  it." 

*'What.?    Invalided  out.?" 

*'  No,  they  have  let  me  go  altogether.  They  all  agreed 
I  have  fairly  done  my  bit.  Claire,  I  can  tell  you  they 
were  jolly,  joUy  nice  about  it — the  big- wigs,  the  small  fry, 
everybody.*' 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  ND  now  the  real  wretchedness  of  Claire's  marriage 
/  "\  began.  All  that  had  happened  hitherto  was  but 
"'    ^  the  prelude. 

With  a  final  compliment  on  her  economy  he  resumed 
((<ntrol  of  the  purse,  appointed  her  his  housekeeper,  and 
c  uce  more  called  her  to  account  closely  for  the  suras  that 
1  •  ?  issued.  He  made  difficulty  about  the  slightest  extra 
c'ltlay,  telling  her  that  now  she  had  learnt  by  experience 
1  ow  far  a  few  pounds  will  go  with  proper  management  she 
c  ught  to  be  able  to  produce  the  greatest  possible  effect  at 
ihe  least  possible  cost.  He  was  so  severe  in  ruling  out 
e5:travagance  as  betrayed  in  her  purchase  of  delicacies  and 
comforts  for  Gladys  that  she  at  once  began  to  sell  super- 
f  uous  garments  and  jewellery,  making  a  hoard  of  the  pro- 
ceeds from  which  she  could  provide  for  the  child's  needs 
without  having  to  face  his  criticism  and  displeasure.  He 
T  as  the  master. 

Their  house  was  situated  in  one  of  those  short  streets 
that  connect  Great  Portland  Street  and  Regent  Street,  a 
tall  and  narrow  old  house  with  a  nearly  new  terra  cotta 
front,  sandwiched  between  the  wide  splendours  of  a  tea 
shop  and  the  gaudy  little  window  of  a  milliner's.  Roddy 
rented  it  furnished,  and  as  he  said  dirt  cheap,  from  owners 
>^ho  were  frightened  by  the  last  visit  of  Zeppelins  and 
laldly  anxious  to  retire  into  the  depths  of  the  country. 
^ ['hough  it  might  seem  impossible  when  you  looked  at  the 
i  erra-cotta,  yet  the  inside  of  the  house  was  worse  than  the 
t)utside.  It  had  sticky,  embossed  walls  paper,  velvet 
(hairs  and  sofas,  modem  fireplaces  like  the  openings  of 
lighly  ornate  railway  tunnels,  lamp-shades  with  immense 
<  ard-board  butterflies,  chandeliers  with  tinted  ribbons  as 

207 


208  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

large  as  schoolgirls'  sashes.  In  all  the  rooms  there  were 
reproductions  of  the  most  insipid  mid- Victorian  art,  very 
richly  framed,  and  with  gilded  lettering  for  the  tell-tale 
titles — Her  -first  Dance;  Telegram  for  you.  Sir;  The 
Charity  that  begins  at  Home,  and  so  on.  But  to  Roddy 
it  seemed  more  than  all  right.  Never  remarkable  for 
nicety  of  aesthetic  judgment,  and  now  coming  fresh  from 
the  horrors  of  war,  he  thought  it  perfect.  He  was  so 
pleased  that  he  did  not  even  say  it  should  be  considered  as 
pro  tern. 

Looking  strangely  out  of  place  in  these  tawdry  sur- 
roundings,  Claire  moved  to  and  fro  with  the  graceful  dig- 
nity of  a  fallen  princess,  sad  and  white  of  face  often,  quiet 
and  repressed  in  manner  always ;  teaching  their  duties  to 
the  servants,  those  queer  war  servants  that  alone  were 
available;  or  going  upstairs  just  before  a  dinner-party  to 
sit  for  a  few  minutes  with  Gladys,  and  then  perhaps  wip- 
ing her  eyes  outside  on  the  landing  before  she  pulled  her- 
self together  and  came  down  to  receive  her  husband's 
guests — the  riff-raff  of  both  sexes  with  whom  he  loved  to 
feast  and  make  merry. 

The  time  of  dinner-parties  had  begun  again,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  such  festivities  were  considered  unseasonable 
and  improper  by  all  right-minded  people.  He  liked  to  "see 
the  happy  faces  of  his  pals  around  him,  and  he  insisted  on 
giving  them  and  himself  "  everything  of  the  best ;  "  put- 
ting no  limit  to  expenditure  in  this  particular  respect; 
making  the  champagne  flow  as  profusely  as  when  England 
was  at  peace;  altogether  refusing  to  listen  to  public  ad- 
monitions against  waste  of  substance.  Hang  it,  such  rules 
could  not  apply  to  one  who  had  so  nobly  "  done  his  bit.'* 
So  he  drove  Claire  to  procure  the  fine  unnecessary  food, 
sent  her  to  get  chickens  and  game  at  a  certain  poulterer's 
where  they  "  rooked  you  but  asked  no  questions,"  told  her 
to  use  intelligence  and  diplomacy  with  butchers  and 
grocers — in  a  word,  to  "  wangle  it  somehow." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  209 

'  I  look  on  you  as  my  A.D.C.  or  Camp  Commandant," 
he  aid  facetiously ;  "  and  it's  up  to  you  to  forage  round 
arc    make  me  comfortable." 

ihe  obeyed  him  in  everything,  and  he  kept  her  busy. 
SI  had  no  leisure,  and  her  visits  to  the  knitting-parties 
ar  < .  the  hospital  ceased  altogether.  Her  task  in  life  was 
R  idy.  The  little  time  she  could  steal  from  it  was  all 
toe  small  for  her  watchful  care  of  Gladys. 

After  his  first  transports  of  affection  were  exhausted, 
he  consented  to  leave  her  at  home  of  an  evening  while  he 
w«  it  out  and  amused  himself.  Now  that  he  was  safe, 
qi  te  free  from  danger,  and  sure  of  having  her  to  himself 
foi  ever,  he  felt  there  was  no  necessity  to  trot  her  round 
to  every  little  piece  of  fun.  Looking  forward  through  the 
years  he  knew  that  he  would  be  able  to  command  her  kisses 
whenever  he  wanted  them,  and  therefore  he  had  no  con- 
tinual sense  of  hurry. 

During  those  first  weeks  of  delicious  ease  after  his 
fstigues  he  was  very  gay  indeed,  swaggering  about  every- 
wiere  in  uniform  as  a  wounded  hero,  helping  the  A.P.M.'s 
blanch  by  sharp  reproof  of  every  passing  Tommy  who 
omitted  to  salute  him  properly  and  sufficiently.  Then  one 
night  at  a  music-hall  when  he  became  involved  in  a  dis- 
turbance and  had  to  give  his  name  and  address  the  A.P.M. 
p<3ople,  rather  ungratefully,  conveyed  a  strong  hint  that 
if  he  was  out  of  the  army  he  need  not  any  longer  dress  as 
tliough  in  it. 

Although  he  was  so  fond  of  his  uniform  as  the  badge  of 
courage  or  evidence  of  patriotism,  Claire  suspected  at  once 
a  ad  little  by  little  reached  certain  knowledge  that  he  had 
1(  ft  the  army  in  a  very  poor-spirited  manner.  Knowing 
t  lat  compassionate  grounds  for  release — to  use  the  tech- 
nical term — could  only  be  established  in  the  case  of  a 
perfectly  sound  person  by  the  presence  of  extreme  money 
t  'oubles,  he  had  put  forward  the  plea  that  he  had  a  wife 
a  ad  young  child  totally  dependent  on  him,  and  that  unless 


210  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

he  were  allowed  to  resume  the  interrupted  business  of  sup- 
porting them  ruin  and  starvation  would  ensue.  A  chance 
meeting  in  the  street  with  the  wife  of  General  Pirbright 
gave  Claire  a  clue  to  these  details. 

Lady  Pirbright  said  that  her  husband,  now  advanced  to 
the  high  position  of  a  corps  commander,  had  been  so  very 
pleased  at  being  able  to  cut  the  knot  of  Claire's  difficulties 
by  getting  Roddy  sent  home  to  her.  Naturally,  the  Gil- 
mours,  being  such  very  old  friends,  he  was  delighted  to  use 
all  his  influence  on  her  behalf. 

"  And  now  tell  me.  I  do  hope  that  Captain  Vaughan 
got  back  in  time  to  extricate  things.  It  is  not  as  bad  as 
he  feared  .f^  " 

In  suitable  terms  Claire  expressed  her  sense  of  the  Gen- 
eraFs  kindness. 

It  was  when  Roddy  fetched  out  his  pre-war  wardrobe 
and  appeared  again  in  civilian  clothes  that  Claire  first 
noticed  the  outwards  signs  of  a  process  of  deterioration 
which  henceforth  slowly  but  surely  continued.  The  old 
shine  and  glossiness  that  seemed  to  be  imparted  by  the 
man  to  the  garments  rather  than  by  the  garments  to  the 
man  had  gone  for  ever.  He  was  negligent  and  careless  as 
to  ties  and  collars,  no  longer  a  fond  guardian  of  the 
braided  coats,  not  distressed  by  a  badly-folded  pair  of 
trousers  or  a  mud-stained  cloth  boot  top.  He  did  not 
always  shave  before  breakfast,  was  content  to  lounge 
through  the  morning  in  slippers,  and  shirked  the  labour 
of  going  to  the  hairdresser  to  get  his  moustache  cut  and 
trimmed  into  the  stiff  little  brush  of  which  he  used  to  be 
so  proud. 

Perhaps  he  felt  that  the  lengthened,  and  in  comparison, 
straggling  moustache  was  the  absolute  demonstration  of 
his  freedom  from  all  irksome  restraint.  The  reaction  after 
submitting  to  a  year's  discipline  made  him  keenly  enjoy 
all  breaches  of  decorum. 

He  was  the  large,  coarse  plant  that  stem  gardeners 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  211 

al  andon,  now  resuming  its  loose  unchecked  growth  and 
r  pidly  running  to  seed  again;  or,  to  an  expert  eye,  ob- 
s  'ving  him  as  he  lolled  on  a  sofa  while  cigar  ash  tumbled 
C!  the  velvet  at  his  elbow,  he  would  have  seemed  the  typical 
c  1  i-fashioned  N.C.O.  who  has  found  himself  ensconced  in 
t  e  exquisitely  soft  job  of  camp-fire  dreamings,  and  who  is 
r  <  ver  likely  with  willingness  to  do  anything  harder  than 
€3 1,  drink,  and  sleep  for  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

Whatever  his  failings,  he  had  been  industrious  and 
€  ergetic  in  the  past;  but  now  he  was  indolent  and  lazy, 
J  )stponing  and  dreading  effort.  Months  passed  and  he 
V  18  still  merely  hatching  a  plan  of  campaign  and  not  even 
f  letending  to  do  any  work.  As  if  in  justification  of  his 
illeness  he  spoke  sometimes  of  shell-shock — shell-shock  not 
diagnosed  in  his  case,  but  probably  there  all  the  same:  the 
mysterious  nervous  malady  whose  after-effects  can  ex- 
plain anything. 

He  went  on  talking  with  extreme  bitterness  of  the  pro- 
fiteers, but  in  his  tone  there  was  now  perceptible  a  grudg- 
ing admiration  and  a  secret  envy.  All  the  world,  he  said, 
iR'as  inflamed  with  the.  spirit  of  money-making;  the  few 
1^  ho  refused  to  take  part  in  the  scramble  for  golden  prizes 
offered  by  the  war  would  probably  not  be  thanked  or 
honoured  for  remaining  out  in  the  cold.  The  city  was  no 
good.  It  was  too  late  to  pick  up  anything  by  Govern- 
ment contracts.  Those  who  had  plunged  their  fingers  into 
tbat  enormous  pie  took  jolly  good  care  that  no  late-comers 
should  have  a  taste  of  it.  But  if  you  could  make  anything 
and  sell  it,  or  buy  anything  and  sell  it  again,  you  could 
rot  go  wrong.  The  ascending  profit  on  every  sort  of  ex- 
c  hange  or  barter  was  the  source  one  wanted  to  tap  at  this 
time  of  day.  And  the  war  would  not  last  indefinitely:  the 
f  olden  opportunities  must  soon  pass  away. 

*^  It's  now  or  never,  Claire." 

Daily  examination  of  the  milliner's  windows  next  door 
i  t  last  stung  him  into  action.     He  used  to  entertain  his 


212  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

guests  at  the  dinner-parties  3vith  stories  of  the  iniquitous 
profits  made  by  his  neighbour.  For  a  little  straw  hat  with 
a  mauve  ribbon,  of  which  the  material  cost  at  present 
prices  would  not  be  more  than  perhaps  eighteen  shillings, 
she  had  the  temerity  to  ask  twelve  and  fourteen  guineas. 
"  And  she  gets  it,  mark  you.  I  watch  the  hats  go  out  of 
the  window.  Highway  robbery.  As  much  as  twenty- 
pounds  for  anything  with  feathers.  The  wife  will  tell  you 
I'm  not  exaggerating.     Simply  coining  money !  " 

Thus  came  the  inspiration  for  the  first  of  his  series  of 
war  ventures.  He  took  empty  premises  in  New  Bond 
Street  and  started  a  furniture  shop,  stocking  it  with  all 
the  furniture  that  had  lain  in  warehouse  since  the  Sedg- 
moor  Street  collapse  and  the  retirement  from  the  Mayfair 
house.  Claire  pleaded  that  he  would  exclude  their  wedding 
presents  from  the  stock,  because  it  would  be  so  painful  if 
their  donors  chanced  to  see  them  there  offered  for  sale ; 
but  he  over-ruled  the  objection  as  vexatious.  He  had 
long  since  spent  the  savings  amassed  while  he  was  away, 
and  from  time  to  time  they  had  impinged  on  their  capital ; 
now  he  made  her  raise  more  money  for  preliminary  outlay 
— the  sprat  that  was  going  to  catch  the  salmon. 

She  offered  to  help  him  in  the  shop;  but  as  usual  he 
made  light  of  her  capabilities. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,  I  don't  quite  see  what  form 
your  help  would  take.  This  is  going  to  be  real  business, 
you  know ;  "  and  he  smiled  at  her  as  one  smiles  at  a  well- 
intentioned  but  notoriously  incompetent  person.  "  You 
might  walk  up  and  down  pretending  to  be  a  customer,  of 
course,  but  I  think  that  would  be  rather  mfra  dig.'' 

She  said  that  he  would  be  buying  stock  as  well  as  sell- 
ing it,  and  she  believed  that  she  might  be  able  to  give  him 
valuable  advice.  She  thought  that  she  really  did  know 
quite  a  good  deal  about  furniture. 

"  You  often  said  so  yourself,  Roddy." 

"  Did  I,  Claire.^  "     And  he  laughed.     "  In  my  time  no 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  213' 

do  bt  I've  said  a  good  many  pretty  things  to  you  that  I 
di^  a't  mean  too  seriously.  No,  my  dear,  I  must  get  some 
Til  ular  woman  of  business  to  help  me  in  this  job." 

-t  was  strange,  but  his  slighting  tone  and  the  wound  to 
a]i  innocent  vanity  had  power  to  give  pain  in  the  midst  of 
h(     deeper  and  more  logically  founded  wretchedness. 

When  the  shop  was  opened  he  did  not  even  ask  her  to 
lc(  k  at  it;  and  she,  smarting  from  the  slight,  carefully  re- 
fi. lined  from  ever  going  near  it.  He  did  not  even  notice 
tl  it  she  kept  away.  He  said  they  were  evidently  in  for  a 
hjge  success;  they  had  sold  a  Nappensol  settee  and  a  set 
o/  brass  fire-irons  within  two  hours  of  unlocking  the  door. 
And  as  the  weeks  passed  he  reported  that  things  were 
gcing  like  wildfire. 

Then  after  some  time  he  said  that  he  had  been  thinking 
over  her  offer  of  aid. 

"And  that  reminds  me,  Claire.  Your  typewriter!  I 
hs.ven't  been  able  to  find  it.  You  sent  it  to  the  warehouse 
\^ith  everything  else,  I  suppose?  " 

Claire  explained  that  the  typewriter  had  not  gone  to  the 
warehouse, 

"Where  is  it?     Here?" 

"  No,  I  have  sold  it." 

"  When  did  you  do  that?  "       f 

"  Oh,  only  a  little  while  ago." 

"  That  seems  a  funny  thing  to  do.  You  ought  to  have 
^  ot  a  dashed  good  price  for  it,  because  typewriters  are  as 
scarce  as  diamonds.    What  did  you  do  with  the  money?  " 

"  I  spent  it." 

"On  what?" 

"  Oh,  on  different  things  that  I  wanted." 

He  was  frowning,  and  he  pulled  his  luxuriant  moustache  ' 
iretfully.     Seeing  that  he  was  becoming  angry,  she  added 
hat  the  things  she  had  bought  with  the  money  were  all 
lecessities  and  not  frivolities.    She  dared  not  tell  him  that 
;hey  were  for  her  daughter. 


214.  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Oh,  all  right.  It  was  your  own  machine,  so  I  suppose 
I  mustn't  complain.  But  it's  an  infernal  nuisance  that 
you  have  parted  with  it  just  when  it  would  have  come  in 
useful.  I  was  going  to  tell  you  that  you  might  come  for 
an  hour  or  two  of  a  morning  and  do  a  little  clerical  work 
for  us.  Nothing  difficult — ^just  copying.  Now,  I  shall 
have  to  see  if  we  can  manage  to  fix  you  up  with  a 
machine." 

And  again  she  felt  the  stab  of  her  harmless  self-respect. 
She  was  not  allowed  to  have  a  word  in  any  questions  of 
taste ;  she  was  held  to  be  incapable  of  understanding  any- 
thing connected  with  management ;  but  she  was  to  go  like 
the  humblest  servant  of  the  shop  and  do  mechanical  labour 
in  order  to  give  increased  leisure  to  her  intellectual 
superiors.  She  revolted  against  this  minor  outrage,  small 
as  it  was  when  compared  with  the  larger  griefs  that  made 
her  misery. 

"  No,  Roddy,  I  couldn't  do  that." 

"Why  not?" 

She  repressed  all  outward  sign  of  indignation,  and  an- 
swered meekly.     "  To  begin  with,  I  haven't  the  time." 

"  Oh,  you  can  make  time  enough.  Beyond  just  look- 
ing after  thingsi  here,  what  have  you  got  to  do  all  day  ?  " 

"  You  forget  that  there  is  Gladys." 

"  No,  by  Jove,  I  don't.  Its  Gladys  this  and  Gladys 
that — fussing  and  messing  about!  Look  here,  if  Gladys 
is  to  be  put  forward  as  the  excuse  whenever  you  don't 
choose  to  do  what  I  ask  you,  I  shall  pack  her  off  to 
school  and  get  her  right  out  of  my  way." 

"  No,  oh  no,  Roddy,  you  won't  do  that."  For  a  few 
moments  she  had  stood  looking  at  him  with  terrified  eyes, 
and  she  put  her  hands  to  her  throat  as  if  struggling  for 
breath. 

"  It's  what  I  will  do,  if  I  have  any  more  nonsense." 

He  was  surprised  by  the  vast  effect  of  his  unpremedi- 
tated threat,  and  either  from  obstinate  anger  or  because 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  216 

brvi  ally  willing  to  use  any  weapon  that  offered,  he  went 
on    3peating  it. 

Oh,  but  no,"  she  cried  wildly  and  incoherently.  **  No, 
thf  would  be — yes,  that  would  be  too  much.  Roddy,  you 
ca  1  t  ever  separate  a  little  child  and  its  mother."       ^ 

' '  She's  more  than  old  enough  to  go  to  school." 

*'  No,  that  I'd  never  stand.  I — I  let  you  do  anything 
els<  don't  I?  But  don't  attempt  to  do  that.  A  child  is 
sac  i  ed." 

*  That's  enough.    You're  getting  hysterical." 

*•  My  Gladys.  No,  oh  no.  You  won't  dare.  Roddy,  I 
wa  1  you,  if  you  ever  dared  to  take  away  my  child " 

'  She's  my  child,  just  as  much  as  yours.  Aren't  I  her 
fat!  er.''    If  I  judge  it  more  convenient " 

I  ,  was  another  most  ugly  scene.  In  the  end  his  voice 
alore  sounded. 

''  Dry  your  eyes,  and  stop  making  a  fuss.  As  to  Gladys 
I  say  again,  please  to  remember  that  I  am  her  father — 
wit  1  a  father's  feelings,  too ;  as  fond  of  her  as  you  are, 
very  likely,  only  not  wanting  to  spoil  her  as  you  do.  And, 
more  than  that,  Claire,  I  call  upon  you  not  to  set  Gladys 
agf  inst  me.  I've  a  right  to  her  love  as  well  as  yourself. 
I'm  not  going  to  allow  disunion,  or  let  you  train  the  child 
to  ook  on  me  as  an  ogre  or  bogey.  The  other  day  when 
I  net  her  on  the  landing  she  shrank  away  from  me  in  a 
way  that  I  didn't  like  at  all.  If  I  speak  sharply  to  her 
it's  for  her  own  good,  and  it's  your  duty  to  make  her 
understand  it.  That's  another  reason  that  would  make 
me  disposed  to  send  her  to  school,  if  I  found  that  her  con- 
fide ace  in  me  was  being  sapped  and  her  affection  alienated. 
As  to  her  health,  and  what  the  doctors  tell  you,  and  all 
tha :,  she  might  be  a  good  deal  better  off  at  a  school  than 
her('." 

^  he  would  die  rather  than  submit  to  separation  from 
her  darling,  and  yet  his  threats  terrified  her.  They  left 
her  shaken  and  weak.     After  all,  would  she  be  able  to 


216  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

resist  such  cruelty,  however  monstrous  and  unnatural? 
What  are  a  mother's  rights?  Very  little,  if  measured 
against  a  father's.  She  pressed  her  face  against  the 
child's  serge  frock  to  hide  fresh  tears,  and  trembled  the 
while.  He  was  the  master,  and  he  held  them  both  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand. 

Until  he  left  the  house,  often  very  late  in  the  morning, 
she  kept  the  child  hidden  as  much  as  possible,  hushed  her 
instantly  if  she  raised  her  voice,  to  prevent  his  being  dis- 
turbed ;  and  she  trained  and  coaxed  her  to  run  to  kiss  him 
at  every  chance  meeting,  in  order  to  soften  his  heart. 
"  You  mustn't  be  afraid  of  him,  darling.  He  is  really 
very  kind  and  good.  He  loves  his  Gladys  and  would 
never  hurt  her." 

He  did  not  repeat  his  menace ;  nor  did  he  speak  again 
of  Claire's  rebellion  in  regard  to  the  suggested  shop-work. 
He  seemed  to  have  forgotten.  But  her  dread  remained 
with  her,  changing  in  form,  torturing  her.  Suppose  he 
were  to  play  some  diabolical  trick,  such  as  taking  Gladys 
away  during  her  own  absence.  She  remembered  her  feel- 
ings on  the  day  when  he  took  her  from  Mrs.  Morris's  lodg- 
ings, and  would  come  rushing  back  from  her  errands  to 
make  sure  that  Gladys  was  still  safe  in  those  upstairs 
rooms.  It  was  all  right.  He  had  not  spirited  her  out  of 
the  house.  And  Claire  would  sit  down  with  her  heart 
tumultuously  beating.  It  had  been  a  baseless,  foolish 
fancy;  she  told  herself  that  whatever  attack  he  made 
would  be  open,  violent,  not  secret  or  underhand.  And 
then-the  nerve-racking  dread  took  some  other  form. 

She  had  feared  him  before  this  and  trembled,  too,  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice ;  but  now  she  often  quailed  at  the  mere 
sight  of  him.  When  he  startled  her  by  coming  into  the 
room  unexpectedly  she  felt  a  deep-seated  physical  disturb- 
ance ;  a  commotion  of  her  very  being,  similar  to  the  shock 
of  horrified  surprise  experienced  by  a  child  or  timid  per- 
son suddenly  brought  face  to  face  with  the  huge  savage 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  217 

ar  nal  only  previously  known  in  frightening  tales. 
So  letimes  when  one  of  the  maid-servants  brought  her  a 
m«  sage  saying  that  he  was  downstairs  and  wanted  to 
sp:  ak  to  her,  she  almost  fainted.  If  he  merely  had  to  tell 
he  I  that  he  required  more  money  for  the  shop,  she  felt 
a  1  elief  as  great  as  though  a  crushing  weight  had  been 
Kfiad  from  her  shoulders  so  that  she  could  stand  up,  or 
iro  1  bands  were  loosening  round  her  neck  so  that  she  could 
breathe  again.  Yes,  yes,  yes,  of  course,  she  quite  under- 
st< )  Dd.  The  shop  was  going  magnificently,  but  high  wages, 
hi^,^h  rent,  high  everything,  had  temporarily  to  be  pro- 
vided for.  Exactly.  With  eager  haste  she  signed  what- 
ev  r  papers  he  dictated. 

They  were  living  on  capital,  and  she  was  not  blind  to 
wl  it  these  words  imply;  but  in  this  respect  she  was  care- 
less, desperate,  as  to  consequences. 

The  woman  of  business  or  manager  that  he  had  secured 
for  the  shop  was  a  Mrs.  Ord-Knox.  Roddy  had  intro- 
dii(;ed  her  to  his  home  circle  as  "  the  wife  of  a  colonel," 
ev  dently  considering  this  a  full  and  sufficient  description, 
and  perhaps  unconsciously  implying  that  it  would  be  in- 
delicate to  inquire  what  colonel,  or  in  which  theatre  of 
war  he  might  be  looked  for.  Mrs.  Knox  for  her  part  al- 
lowed one  immediately  to  infer  that  an  estrangement  had 
supervened  between  her  and  her  commanding  officer.  Pos- 
sibly the  colonel  was  one  of  those  unfortunate  people  who 
caanot  support  an  excessive  use  of  scent,  in  which  case 
one  could  understand  that  the  estrangement  was  in- 
ev  itable ;  for  Mrs.  Knox  carried  about  with  her  an  almost 
overwhelming  perfume  of  heliotrope.  It  was,  indeed,  so 
very  strong  that  the  Vaughan's  guileless  parlourmaid 
sneezed  on  the  threshold  of  the  drawing-room  after  an- 
nouncing her. 

She  had  dined  at  the  house  several  times  before  the 
fo  mdation  of  the  shop,  and  since  going  into  business  she 
at:ended  Roddy's   biggest  and  most  important  parties. 


218  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

She  was  a  rather  tall  woman  of  forty  or  more,  with  a 
thin  aquiline  nose,  pale  grey  eyes,  and  a  large  loose  smil- 
ing mouth  that  in  moments  of  complete  repose,  and  when 
she  thought  herself  free  from  observation,  contracted  and 
lessened  itself  to  the  hard,  thin  lines  indicative  of  a  cold 
and  calculating  temperament.  In  fact,  on  such  rare  oc- 
casions, her  whole  face  changed  to  a  worn  and  battered 
hardness  from  the  voluptuously  fascinating  mask  by  which 
Roddy  and  his  pals  were  so  evidently  allured.  For  the 
evening  toilette  she  employed  a  considerable  amount  of 
paint  as  well  as  powder,  and  dressed  her  brown  curls  in  a 
floppy  style,  although  binding  them  low  across  her  brows 
with  narrow  bands  of  gold  tinsel.  She  talked  drawlingly, 
raising  her  well-marked  eyebrows  when  she  laughed; 
dropped  the  final  g  of  such  words  as  ripping,  and  gen- 
erally aped  the  manner  of  the  lady  of  quality  as  presented 
to  the  public  in  conventional  plays  and  second-class 
novels.  She  had  pretty  little  friendly  gestures,  as  when 
laying  her  hand  on  the  sleeve  of  a  neighbour's  coat  or 
tapping  his  knee  with  the  long  pointed  nails  of  her  ciga- 
rette-stained fingers ;  and  from  the  first  Roddy  had  voted 
her  to  be  a  clinker,  without  the  least  side  or  nonsense. 
Claire  disliked  her  neither  more  nor  less  than  any  other 
of  their  guests. 

They  were  appalling,  these  guests  of  the  winter  of 
1916-17 — war  friends  of  Roddy,  other  furniture  dealers, 
shop  customers,  wives  of  mysteriously  missing  officers  like 
Mrs.  Knox,  but  younger;  and  their  unmarried  sisters,  not 
unlike  the  girls  who  are  all  day  shopping  in  the  Burling- 
ton Arcade  and  who  walk  backwards  and  forwards  for 
miles  before  they  find  what  they  are  looking  for ;  anybody 
dubious,  common,  improper,  as  it  were,  pulled  in  out  of 
the  street  for  a  bit  of  fun  by  the  large-hearted  rollicking 
host.  Claire,  anxious  perhaps  to-night  because  Gladys 
had  complained  of  a  pain  in  her  back  and  could  not  sleep, 
lived  through  the  evening  as   one  lives   through  a  long 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  219 

JOL  ^ey  In  a  crowded  third-class  carriage,  a  visit  to  the 
sU?  IS,  or  an  obscene  play  at  a  continental  theatre. 

'  "he  jokes  and  chaff  grew  broader,  louder.  When  the 
mc  1  was  over  they  sat  long  at  table.  Roddy  behind  a 
cl(  id  of  tobacco  smoke,  flushed,  blissful,  still  plying  the 
wir  ?,  began  to  propose  loyal  toasts.  Mrs.  Knox's  drawl 
wa  lost  in  the  chorus  of  voices  and  only  her  perfume 
rea  :hed  one.  "  Here's  to  Victory.  Here's  to  Peace. 
.  Here's  to  the  brave  lads  who  are  going  to 
see  we  get  it.  .  .  .  Here's  to  the  living,  and  here's  to 
th  i  dead.  ..."  It  was  dreadful  to  think  of  the  Great 
Cause,  and  then  to  think  of  this  noisy,  half-tipsy  gang 
dating  for  a  moment  to  link  themselves  with  its  altruism 
anci  glory. 

Two  such  orgies  were  rendered  a  little  less  unbearable  to 
CI  3  ire  by  the  presence  of  someone  of  different  mould,  a 
friend  of  her  youth. 

IValking  one  day  with  Gladys  towards  the  Regent's 
Park,  she  had  met  Evan  Giles,  the  writer.  He  was  carry- 
ing books  to  the  London  Library,  and  looking  as  tired  and 
threadbare  as  the  shabby  old  volumes  themselves.  He 
wcke  as  if  from  a  dream  when  Claire  spoke  to  him,  and  his 
sadly-lined  face  lit  up  with  pleasure  when  he  recognized 
her.  He  stood  talking,  was  sweet  to  Gladys,  begged 
permission  to  visit  them;  and  Claire,  grateful  for  his  kind- 
ness, touched  by  the  wistful  look  in  his  eyes,  by  something 
forlorn  and  disconsolate  in  his  whole  aspect,  said  they 
were  soon  expecting  friends  to  dinner  and  asked  if  he 
would  be  good  enough  to  join  the  party.  He  accepted 
with  alacrity,  came  once,  and  then  again. 

He  was  not  shocked;  he  enjoyed  himself.  Claire  noticed 
that  he  drank  very  freely,  ate  little,  and  though  for  the 
m)st  part  silent  listened  contentedly.  He  thanked  her 
w'len  going,  said  it  had  done  him  good,  tp,ken  him  out  of 
hi  uself . 

And  Claire  thought  that  in  his  case,  of  course.  Tout 


220      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

ccymprendre,  c'est  tout  pardonner;  his  own  mind  carried 
such  a  beautiful  delicate  world  of  fancy  that  no  common 
people  outside  this  world  could  ever  make  him  uncom- 
fortable. 

"  You  must  come  again,  Mr.  Giles,  very  soon." 

"  It  will  be  a  great  kindness  if  you  let  me.  Good-night, 
dear  Claire." 

But  Roddy  would  not  treat  him  with  respect ;  was  only 
just  civil  enough  to  prevent  an  absent-minded,  dreamy 
man  from  seeing  his  rudeness.  And  for  the  second  time 
he  put  his  foot  down.  Enormous  as  was  the  social  descent 
from  those  days  when  Emily's  large  bosom  had  suffered 
twinges  of  envy  because  of  the  grand  and  smart  folk  enter- 
tamed  by  her  sister  and  brother-in-law,  he  still  felt  that 
the  company  assembled  at  his  hospitable  board  was  too 
good  for  Evan  Giles. 

"  I  tell  you  I  won't  have  that  shabby  scarecrow  here 
again." 

"  Do  you  really  forbid  me  to  ask  one  of  my  oldest 
friends  ?  " 

"  Put  it  like  that,  if  you  please.  Yes,  I  do  forbid 
you." 

At  last  Claire  paid  a  visit  to  the  shop.  Necessity  com- 
pelled her.  A  doctor  had  lately  frightened  her  by  at- 
tributing the  back-aches  of  Gladys  to  some  latent  weak- 
ness of  the  spine,  and  he  advised  that  the  child  should 
join  a  certain  class  for  specially  devised  physical  exercises. 
The  class  would  start  to-morrow  and  Mrs.  Vaughan  must 
decide  at  once.  But  Claire  could  not  decide  without 
Roddy.  She  had  not  sufficient  money.  He  was  not  com- 
ing home  to  dinner,  having  announced  that  he  would  be 
working  at  the  shop  all  through  the  evening  and  probably 
till  late  at  night.  They  were  stock-taking  and  making  up 
accounts  there. 

If  she  spoke  to  him  about  it  all  on  the  telephone,  he 
would  almost  certainly  say  No,     Then  what  should  she 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  221 

dc  Somehow  or  other,  Gladys  was  going  to  that  class ;  a 
w.  e  of  indignation  passed  hotly  through  the  mother's 
bi  ■  in  as  she  thought  of  the  question  being  even  for  a 
m  ]  nent  in  doubt.  How  could  one  hesitate  to  give  Gladys 
th  earth  itself  and  all  that  it  contained,  if  the  gift  would 
mice  her  stronger  and  happier?  However  cowardly  she 
mi^  :ht  be  in  things  that  related  to  herself,  she  would  never 
be  a  coward  where  Gladys  was  concerned.  She  deter- 
m.]  ed  to  go  down  to  the  shop  at  closing  time,  make  him 
cci  sent  and  sanction  the  outlay.  After  all,  it  would  be 
le^i  than  the  cost  of  a  single  dinner-party. 

!3ut  on  the  way  to  Bond  Street  her  courage  nearly  aban- 
dc  I  ed  her.  It  was  a  wretched  cold  night,  with  fallen  snow 
jslcvly  melting  and  seeming  to  give  off  a  mist  that  made 
the  darkened  streets  still  darker.  The  cold,  the  dark- 
ness, and  the  heavy  sense  of  the  world's  tragedy,  made 
Loadon  horrible  at  night  in  these  endless  war  winters. 
People  passed  one  as  vaguely  threatening  forms,  shapeless, 
se  iless,  and  nearly  always  silent.  A  momentary  beam  of 
light  from  an  opened  door,  the  voice  of  an  unseen  speaker, 
the  music  of  a  piano  coming  from  behind  drawn  window 
bl  nds,  startled  without  cheering  one.  In  Bond  Street 
there  were  many  more  moving  figures  than  she  had  met 
with  further  north;  and  one  of  these  phantoms  tried  to 
keep  pace  with  her,  asking  in  an  elderly,  masculine  voice, 
"Why  tripping  so  fast,  O  fair  unknown?"  Another, 
bulking  huge  and  barring  the  way,  announced  itself  as  a 
Scotch  Canadian  private,  and  merely  wished  to  know, 
"  Zlanst  kindly  show  me  the  road  to  nearest  hoot  of 
Y  M.C.A.?  "  But  she  could  not  find  her  own  way,  much 
le  iS  direct  others.  For  a  little  while  Roddy's  place  of 
business  evaded  her  altogether;  and  she  tripped  fast  to 
ard  fro,  peering  through  the  darkness  and  thinking, 
"  This  was  the  street  of  my  fate.  Somewhere  quite  near, 
01  the  other  side  of  the  road.  Is  the  place  where  he 
lo  Iged,  the  place  to  which  I  went  of  my  own  will  to  take 


222  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

slavery  in  exchange  for  freedom,  and  seal  the  bargain  with 
a  kiss.'' 

A  kindly,  harmless  little  phantom  of  an  errand  boy 
put  her  right  at  last,  and  found  the  shop  door  for  her.  A 
shut  motor  car  was  standing  outside  it. 

It  was  past  closing  time.  They  had  turned  out  most  of 
the  lights  and  were  putting  the  shop  to  bed.  Two  young 
women  stretched  hoUand  shrouds  over  choice  pieces  of 
furniture,  a  young  man  moved  to  and  fro  locking  up  show- 
cases, and  from  some  dim  recess  at  the  back  came  a  sound 
of  voices  and  occasional  laughter.  Claire  noticed  that  the 
place  seemed  very  empty.  A  small,  richly-enamelled 
writing-table  confronted  her  like  a  reproachful  ghost  of 
the  Nappensol  magnificence  and  immediately  vanished  as 
the  dust  sheet  went  over  it. 

Then  a  rather  pert  girl  in  hat  and  jacket  came  forward 
and  asked  what  she  wanted. 

Captain  Vaughan,  the  girl  said,  was  in  the  office,  but 
he  could  not  possibly  see  anyone.  He  and  Mrs.  Knox 
were  just  going  out  to  dinner.  The  car  was  waiting  for 
them. 

"  Oh,  very  well.  I'll  take  a  message  to  him,  since  you 
insist.     What  name  is  it.^^  " 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Vaughan." 

The  girl  smiled  very  pertly,  stared  hard  at  Claire,  and 
turned  away  still  smiling.  At  the  sound  of  her  name  both 
the  young  man  and  the  two  young  women  had  looked 
round  quickly  and  were  regarding  Claire  with  curious 
interest.  Then,  before  the  message  could  be  delivered,  Mrs. 
Knox  and  her  escort  came  laughing  gaily  from  the  back 
shop. 

Mrs.  Knox  looked  very  grand,  with  her  golden  circlets 
faintly  gleaming,  her  curls  flopping  down  to  her  eyes,  and 
her  thin  hook  nose  touching  the  collar  of  her  immense  fur 
cloak.  She  started  and  stopped  short  at  sight  of  Claire, 
but      greeted      her     with      drawling      courtesy;      while 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  223 

R:  idy,    not    seeing    her    so    quickly,    was    visibly    dis- 
co] certed. 

Hullo,  Claire,''  he  said,  recovering^  from  his  embarrass- 
meit.  "We're  off  to  the  Alhambra.  A  pal  unexpect- 
ed! J  sent  me  seats,  and  I'm  giving  Mrs.  Knox  a  bit  of 
feed  somewhere  before  the  show." 

•  But  has  Mrs.  Vaughan  dined?  "  drawled  Mrs.  Knox. 
"  C  h,  but  yes — surely — won't  Mrs.  Vaughan  come  and 
feil  with  us?     It's  the  Ritz,  isn't  it?     No  distance." 

'  •  You're  very  kind,  but,  no,  thank  you,"  said  Claire. 
"  C  nly  if  you  will  allow  me  to  speak  to  my  husband  for 
a  moment.     I  won't  detain  him." 

**Why,  surely,  indeed,  yes,"  drawled  Mrs.  Knox;  and 
sh;  passed  on. 

(I)laire  in  a  low  voice  told  Roddy  why  she  had  disturbed 
hini,  and  he  at  once  gave  his  consent  to  all  that  she  asked. 

'•  Yes,  of  course,  certainly.  Anything  for  the  child's 
welfare,"  he  said  good-humouredly  and  loudly,  as  if  not 
unwilling  that  his  words  should  be  overheard  by  Mrs.  Knox, 
who  stood  waiting  for  him  at  the  door.  "  Hang  the  ex- 
pense. When  did  I  ever  deny  her  anything?  Now  if  you 
really  won't  come  on  to  the  Ritz  I  must  be  off.  I  shall 
re:um  here  to  finish  my  work  after  the  show.  So  I  may 
be  very  late,  as  I  said."  And  he  hurried  away  with  the 
lady  in  the  fur  cloak. 

This  was  Claire's  first  plain  intimation  of  Roddy's  un- 
fa thfulness  ;  and  as  she  walked  home  through  the  cold  and 
darkness  she  thought  of  it  for  a  little  while.  To  have 
m(t  the  solid  fact  in  this  sudden  manner,  like  a  blow  in 
th?  face,  with  the  whole  shop  watching,  understanding, 
and  grinning  at  her,  should  have  been  something  quite 
in  ;upportable  to  her  pride  as  a  wife ;  and,  nevertheless, 
as  she  hurried  on  her  heart  was  warmed  by  comparatively 
joy^ous  thoughts.  What  really  mattered  was  all  right; 
he  r  poor  little  girl  would  not  be  deprived  of  the  gymnastic 
tr  ^atment.     Gladys  was  to  be  given  this  new  chance. 


224  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Had  she  not  known  till  now  that  his  manager  was  also 
his  mistress?  "Oh,  but,  yes,  surely"  she  must  have 
known;  at  least,  could  not  be  surprised.  Unfortunately 
the  arrangement  did  not  seem  to  promise  well  for  the 
success  of  the  shop.  It  must  be  very  expensive — that 
fur  coat,  the  car!  The  scent  was  probably  quite  cheap. 
Then  as  the  thought  of  Gladys  mingled  again  with  these 
musings  she  felt  something  approaching  gratitude  to  Mrs, 
Knox.  It  had  been  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Knox  just  now 
that  made  everything  so  easy.  If  Mrs.  Knox  had  not 
been  there,  all  dressed  in  her  best  and  ready  for  the  evening 
treat,  Roddy  would  not  have  felt  constraint,  possibly  even 
faint  contrition;  and  in  that  case  he  might  have  refused. 
Claire  walked  on  swiftly  and  lightly  through  the  snow  and 
mud  of  unswept  pavements,  thinking  no  more  of  the 
joyous  pair  who  were  hobnobbing  in  the  candle  light  at 
a  little  table  of  the  dearly  loved  hotel.  She  thought  with 
hope  of  the  child  whose  arms  would  soon  be  round  her 
neck.  Nothing  else  mattered  really.  Gladys  was  to  have 
her  chance. 

For  a  time  now  Claire  enjoyed  immunity  from  certain 
of  her  troubles.  There  was  a  cessation  of  the  dinner- 
parties. Roddy  apparently  was  kept  busy  at  the  shop  on 
most  nights.  He  returned  in  the  small  hours  and  slept  on 
a  camp  bedstead  in  his  dressing-room,  continued  to  sleep 
on  it  all  through  the  morning  sometimes  and  came  down 
to  luncheon  with  eyes  rather  blood-shot  and  a  hand  that 
shook  so  that  it  once  broke  a  glass  when  he  was  helping 
himself  to  whisky.  In  this  tremulous,  exhausted  con- 
dition he  used  to  mumble  about  shell  shock — "  Never  quite 
the  same  afterwards.  It  finds  you  out.  Touches  the  weak 
spots,''  and  so  on; — but  in  spite  of  the  nervous  debility 
he  swore  with  such  vigour  at  the  servants  that  three 
parlour-maids  gave  notice  within  a  month.  He  looked  so 
big  and  ugly  as  he  came  into  the  dining-room  that  it  was 
difficult  to  overcome  the  qualms  of  Gladys  and  make  her  I 

J 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  225 

\  m  forward  to  kiss  him  as  he  wished.     But  he  was  often 

^ay  from  home  altogether.  He  sought  sea  air  at  the 
'  eek-end,  and  some  unknown  friend  of  Claire  once  sent 
}  er  a  common  little  newspaper  with  a  marked  paragraph 
!  1  its  society  news  giving  a  list  of  the  people  who  stayed 
I  ist  week  at  the  Hotel  Metropole,  Brighton.  The  list  in- 
<  luded  the  names  of  Captain  and  Mrs.  "  Roddy  "  Vaughan. 

Then,  in  due  course,  the  furniture  shop  went  to  smash. 
lie  came  home  sad  and  doleful,  sighing  lis  he  told  Claire 
fhat  the  luck  had  run  against  him  cruelly  and  he  almost 
wished  that  he  was  dead.  The  fact  was  that  he  had  merely 
imptied  the  shop,  obtaining  good  prices  for  all  articles 
J  old,  but  never  replacing  them  with  fresh  stock.  The 
money  had  all  gone  in  fun  and  riot.  With  the  aid  of  Mrs. 
jJnox,  one  might  say  without  exaggeration,  he  had  simply 
devoured  the  shop.  And  his  low  spirits  were  due  to  the 
callous  behaviour  of  Mrs.  Knox.  In  presence  of  the 
disaster  she  had  deserted  him.  Never  again  would  he  have 
the  solace  in  toil  that  had  been  provided  by  the  slow  music 
of  the  languid  voice,  the  touch  of  those  wavy  curls,  the 
lulling  and  soothing  fragrance  of  the  heliotrope. 

Claire  understood  why  he  was  sad.  Indeed  he  almost 
seemed  ready  to  speak  of  the  misfortune  that  had  befallen 
him,  and  plainly  sought  consolation  and  sympathy.  But 
she  did  not  at  once  realize  the  consequences  to  herself  of 
Mrs.  Knox's  unkindness.  She  shivered  as  her  ear  caught 
the  ancient  and  disused  words  of  endearment — "  Dear  old 
Claire!  Always  a  dear,  aren't  you?  By  Jove,  when  a 
man's  down  on  his  luck  and  feels  all  the  world's  against 
him,  it's  something  to  have  one  faithful  heart  to  turn  to. 
Bring  your  chair  round,  and  sit  by  me,  Claire.  I'm  afraid 
I've  neglected  you  of  late;  but  you  mustn't  think  I've 
ceased  to  value  you,  yes,  and  to  admire  you,  and  think 
pretty  things  about  you.  You're  my  own  old  Claire,  aren't 
you?  " 

And  the  pitiful  struggle  ensued — the  miserable  struggle 


226  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

made  by  thousands  of  wives  in  Claire's  situation,  the  hope- 
less effort  to  save  a  little  self-respect  from  the  wreck  of  all 
else.  They  are  willing  to  forgive,  to  forget,  but  not  im- 
mediately to  condone.  Flesh  and  blood,  body  and  brain, 
every  smallest  thread  of  tissue,  each  tiniest  nerve-cell,  make 
them  recoil  in  disgust.  There  is  scarcely  a  task  so  vile 
that  they  would  not  without  flinching  face  it,  rather  than 
subside  into  the  still  warm  place  vacated  by  the  woman 
who  has  wronged  them,  and  tamely  suffer  the  caresses  of 
which  she  has  unexpectedly  grown  tired.  Claire  made 
the  struggle — and  was  beaten.  He  was  her  master  still, 
with  all  a  master's  rights. 

But  to  her  fear  was  now  added  a  violent  physical 
repulsion.  By  no  effort  of  imagination  would  she  ever 
again  recover  the  old  mental  picture  in  which  she  saw  re- 
deeming features  or  qualities.  The  sight  of  his  sensual 
lips,  his  fattening  jowl,  his  great  shoulders  and  bull  neck, 
stirred  her  to  the  depths  with  disgust.  When  he  forced 
his  face  close  to  hers  she  shut  her  eyes,  felt  faint,  felt  sick. 
Even  when  he  put  his  arm  round  her  waist  or  patted  her 
on  the  back  as  they  passed  from  one  room  to  another,  she 
sometimes  nearly  shrieked  aloud. 

He  became  a  wine  merchant,  and  just  as  he  had  eaten 
all  the  furniture  he  drank  all  the  wine.  He  was  habitually 
drinking  in  excess,  and  had  not  needed  the  temptation  of 
trade  facilities.  After  that  he  was  associated  with  partners 
in  some  coal  selling.  When  the  coal  burnt  itself  out  he 
took  to  leather  goods. 

Then  there  came  another  crash  in  his  affairs.  It  was 
the  usual  thing — another  proposal  to  realize  securities 
and  pull  him  straight. 

"  But  you  are  ruining  us  utterly,"  said  Claire,  "  Soon 
we  shall  have  nothing  left." 

She  tried  to  argue  with  him,  but  he  only  replied  that  a 
couple  of  thousand  pounds  were  so  vitally  necessary  that 
he  could  not  do  without  them. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  227 

-^hen  with  breathless  eagerness  she  made  a  proposal  on 
he  ]  side.  She  said  she  consented  to  raise  the  money  if  he 
Ef  eed  to  their  hving  apart.  He  was  staggered  by  this 
al  lormal  suggestion,  and  said  she  must  have  taken  leave 
oi  her  senses. 

'  Are  you  mad?  My  word,  that's  a  nice  thing  to  say« 
Y  u  and  I  part  ?  "  He  spluttered  with  indignation.  "  Da 
yoi  really  mean  you  would  entertain  such  an  idea?" 

She  meant  it  with  all  her  soul ;  and  with  all  her  strength 
si  (  pleaded  that  the  idea  might  be  converted  into  solid 
f  e  ( t.  There  need  be  no  scandal,  no  recriminations.  People 
ii(  id  never  know  that  they  had  made  the  agreement. 
Courts  of  law  need  not  be  approached  or  have  anything 
to  do  with  it.  They  would  get  a  deed  drawn  up  binding 
eaoh  other.     It  would  be  quite  easy. 

"  Where  have  you  got  all  this  from?  How  do  you 
know  such  a  dashed  lot  about  it?" 

"  Roddy,  I  have  found  out,  because  I  have  been  thinking 
so  much  about  it.  Lots  of  people  do  it.  It's  always 
being  done.  Not  what  they  call  a  judicial  separation — 
but  just  a  deed — an  agreement  that  we  enter  into  and 
c.in't  break." 

He  was  angry.  He  would  never,  never  consent.  He 
clung  to  the  notion  that  enemies  to  him  had  been  poisoning 
her  mind,  priming  her  for  mischief.  If  not,  he  asked,  how 
could  she  have  thought  of  it? 

"  Because  I'm  so  unhappy ;  and,  Roddy,  I — I  feel  I 
cm't  go  on." 

But  she  had  to  go  on.  His  was  the  sovereign  will;  he 
forced  her  still  to  bow  to  it.  The  money  he  required  was 
s  applied  to  him,  and  he  gave  nothing  in  exchange. 

No  member  of  the  real  business  world  could  meet  him 
"v  ithout  at  once  seeing  that  he  was  a  man  fast  going  down 
1  ill.  He  failed  to  keep  appointments,  forgot  unposted 
litters  in  his  pocket,  became  almost  too  indolent  even  to 


228  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

talk  of  doing  work.  He  let  chances  of  gain  slip  by  him, 
and  knew  that  they  were  gone  without  remorse.  He  did 
not  care  to  think  of  his  big  hopes  and  wide  ambitions; 
he  laughed  away  his  sense  of  disappointment  and  failure, 
drowned  all  his  sorrows  in  drink.  Yet  he  never  quite  lost 
belief  in  himself  and  his  star.  At  the  core  of  him  there 
was  still  a  glow,  a  hope,  or  an  instinctive  faith  in  the 
indestructibility,  the  everlasting  glory  of  that  central 
phenomenon  of  the  universe  known  to  men  as  Roddy 
Vaughan. 

Something  would  happen — and  he  knew  it  must  be  some- 
thing prodigiously  stimulating — to  rouse  him  again  to 
action  and  success.  He  was  under  an  eclipse;  but,  after 
all,  this  semi-darkness  was  only  pro  tern. 

And  the  strongest  of  all  his  appetites  remained  just  as 
powerful  as  when  he  had  been  at  his  very  best.  In  his 
widespread  love-makings  he  was  again  the  hardy  adven- 
turous hunter  of  the  far-off  past.  Nothing  feminine  came 
amiss.  After  the  thinness  and  high-bred  languors  of  Mrs. 
Knox,  he  found  the  plumpness  and  loud  slang  of  a  music- 
hall  artist  a  refreshing  change.  In  this  topsy-turvy 
London  of  the  war,  variety  was  never  lacking,  the  game 
on  foot  never  scarce.  Dark  girls,  fair  girls;  chestnut 
locks  and  apple  cheeks  beneath  white  hoods;  pale  faces 
and  tired  eyes  shaded  by  service  caps ;  girls  whose  essential 
charm  burst  the  disguise  of  their  soldier's  stiff  uniforms  or 
nurse's  ugly  gowns,  and  exploded  with  an  emotional  shock 
that  thrilled  him  through  and  through — there  was  always 
something  strange  and  new  to  run  after.  A  girl  in  khaki 
trousers  off  a  motor  car  evoked  a  passion  that  three  long 
weeks  scarcely  cooled. 

But  he  always  came  back  to  Claire  in  the  end.  Some- 
thing he  found  with  her  that  was  nowhere  else  in  all  the 
vast  town.  In  each  renewal  of  that  particular  love-making 
he  felt  again,  if  faintly,  the  charm  that  she  had  exercised 
over  him  at  the  very  beginning;  illusive  but  delightful,  a 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  229 

^  ace  that  could  not  be  imitated,  a  sweet  seduction  that 
T^  .8  her  herself.  She  was  the  real  tip-topper ;  and  whether 
s '  e  loved  him,  feared  him,  or  hated  liim,  he  felt  that  he 
i  t  uld  not  let  her  go. 

"  Dear  old  girl,  why  are  you  so  snappy  to  me?  Don't 
;)  >u  see  that  I  want  to  make  it  up.  Can't  you  let  bygones 
I     bygones.?'' 

Even  if  he  was  silent,  smoking  his  pipe  reflectively,  only 
^:  ancing  at  her  from  time  to  time,  Claire  understood, 
ho  words  were  needed.  Before  he  took  her  by  the  wrist, 
slid  his  hand  up  her  arm,  gently  drew  her  to  him,  and  gave 
1  ?r  a  wine-tainted  kiss,  she  knew  that  her  turn  had  come 
lound  again. 

In  the  morning  when  the  light  came  creeping  in  and 
she  saw  his  face  upon  the  pillow  at  her  side,  she  sprang 
C)  it  of  the  bed.  He  would  go  on  sleeping  like  this  for  many 
ir  ore  hours ;  but  she  looked  back,  dreading  that  her  sudden 
violent  movement  might  have  wakened  him.  She  looked 
at  him,  his  hair  all  tangled,  his  puify  cheeks  sleep-soiled, 
n  red  stubble  glistening  on  his  heavy  chin  beneath  the  un- 
combed  moustache;  and  she  fled  into  the  bathroom  to 
wash  herself — to  wash  in  hot  water  and  in  cold  water, 
leeling  that  she  could  never  wash  away  the  stain  of  con- 
tact with  those  lips. 


CHAPTER  XX 

^'y^^^H,  Mother,  help  me.  I'm  too  miserable.  But  for 
■       m  Gladys,  I  should  commit  suicide." 

^^-^    "Claire!" 

"  I  do  still  belong  to  you  all.  Other  families  don't  allow 
anyone  belonging  to  them  to  suffer  as  I  have.  They  inter- 
fere— to  protect  her,  to  save  her.  Mother,  don't  refuse. 
Help  me — let  the  others  help  me." 

Mrs.  Gilmour  sat  aghast.  It  was  comparatively  late  in 
the  evening,  and  Claire  had  found  her  alone  in  the  dining- 
room  seated  by  a  meagre  wood  fire,  and  still  knitting; 
like  the  last  gallant  survivor  of  those  knitting  parties 
that  used  to  assemble  so  light-heartedly  in  the  days  when 
the  war  was  young  and  gay.  Instinct  and  not  reason  had 
brought  Claire  here.  It  was  the  cry  of  an  almost  broken 
heart  suddenly  destroying  that  myth  of  the  happy  mar- 
riage in  which  Mrs.  Gilmour  had  taken  pleasure  for  such 
a  long  time. 

"  I  fear,  Claire,  that  you  would  find  every  single  member 
of  the  family  raise  insuperable  objections  to  your  pro- 
posal ; "  and  she  was  about  to  rise  from  her  chair,  but 
her  daughter  clung  to  her  arm  and  detained  her. 

"  Mother  dear,  don't  get  up  and  walk  about.  At  least 
stay  by  me.  I'm  so  utterly  alone,  except  for  my  darling 
Gladys,  that  you  don't  know  what  comfort  I  feel  even  in 
holding  your  hand  like  this.  Don't,  don't  make  me  feel 
that  I'm  quite  nothing  to  you — that  I  am  cast  out,  and 
abandoned  to  my  fate." 

"  My  dear  child,  of  course  not.  You  are  evidently 
greatly  overwrought,  or  you  would  not  use  such  ex- 
pressions. But  now  collect  yourself  and  tell  me  with 
complete  frankness  what  has  put  all  this  into  your  head  ?  " 

230 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  231 

Then  in  order  to  support  her  case  Claire  told  the  story 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Granville  Budleigh. 

virs.  Granville  triumphantly  defying  Granville  had  gone 
to  France  and  driven  a  motor  car  for  months  and  months. 
Ti  en  they  had  come  together  again,  living  in  London  be- 
ca  ise  Granville  was  temporarily  employed  at  the  War 
Oi^ce,  and  their  quarrels  were  worse  than  ever.  But  now 
his  family  had  intervened,  and  decided  that  in  the  interest 
of  all  parties — themselves,  as  much  as  the  unhappy  pair 
—  :he  union  must  be  brought  to  an  end.  Lady  Paramont, 
fill  ling  strength  for  this  as  well  as  for  all  her  gigantic 
war  activities,  had  convened  the  heads  of  the  family,  and 
hj.l  insisted  that  the  lamentable  state  of  affairs  could 
nob  be  allowed  to  continue.  Without  saddling  the  re- 
sponsibility and  blame  on  either  of  them,  she  had  just 
fi]';nly  insisted  that  they  must  be  separated.  And  the 
whole  family  had  agreed  that  separation  was  the  only  cure 
for  insupportable  distresses. 

'^  I  do  not  know  them,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour  simply. 
"  Brimling  Budling,  do  you  say  ?  I  have  never  even  heard 
the  name." 

"  But  Uncle  Derek  knows  them  well.  Mother.  He  is  a 
vory  old  friend,  if  not  a  connection ;  and  he  approves  most 
heartily.  He  came  to  tell  me  about  it,  and  he  said :  ^  Why 
should  two  people  be  allowed  to  tear  themselves  to  pieces.'^ 
Is  not  such  a  cat-and-dog  existence  a  travesty  of  mar- 
riage? '  Mother,  on  my  honour,  those  were  Uncle  Derek's 
V(ry  words.  They  made  such  an  impression  on  me  that 
I  am  not  likely  to  forget  them — for,  naturally,  they  made 
me  think  of  myself." 

"  Derek  is  carried  away  by  the  tide  of  these  new,  and  to 
my  mind,  thoroughly  objectionable  ideas.  It  is  the  war, 
I  suppose,  turning  everything  upside  down — and,  as  bad 
a  ;  the  war  itself,  all  these  new  people  suddenly  rich,  while 
W3ll-bred,  self-respecting  people  are  being  slowly  ruined." 
A  nd  Mrs.  Gilmour  figeted  her  legs  and  sighed.     "  I  pray 


232  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

that  we  shall  return  to  saner  notions  in  the  years  to 
come." 

Claire  assured  her  that  Granville  Budleigh's  people  did 
not  belong  to  the  newly  rich;  they  were  well-bred  people, 
yery  old-established,  just  the  sort  of  people  that  her 
mother  had  always  respected. 

But  Mrs.  Gilmour  only  shook  her  head. 

"  Claire,"  she  said  all  at  once,  "  You  really  must  excuse 
me  and  not  think  it  unkind  if  I  get  up.  It  is  not  only 
that  I  have  been  bothered  with  pins  and  needles  in  my 
feet  since  the  shortage  of  fuel  began  and  roaring  fires 
became  a  thing  of  the  past,  but  with  me  movement  always 
aids  the  action  of  the  mind.  I  seem  to  think  better  when 
on  my  legs."  Then  she  gave  Claire's  hand  a  friendly 
squeeze,  got  up,  and  began  to  move  about  the  room. 

"  And  certainly,  Claire,  if  ever  anything  demanded 
careful  thought,  it  is  the  communication  you  have  made 
to  me.  I  can't  conceal  from  you  that  it  has  fallen  as  a 
dreadful  blow.  But  you  were  right  to  tell  me,  Claire; 
and  already  I  begin  to  hope  that,  having  eased  yourself 
by  this  confidence,  you  will  soon  feel  able  to  take  a  more 
cheerful  view ;  "  and  she  paced  to  and  fro  for  a  little  while 
in  silence.  "  I  am  trying  to  recall  the  name  of  a  play 
written  by  Sir  Arthur  Pinero.  Across  the  Seas!  No,  that 
is  wrong.  I  have  it  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue."  And 
suddenly  she  stopped  walking  and  turned  triumphantly. 
"  Mid'Chan/nel!  Did  you  ever  see  that  play  acted, 
Claire?" 

"  No,  Mother,"  said  Claire  in  a  desolate  voice ;  "  but 
I  have  read  it.  I  know  exactly  what  you  are  going  ta 
say." 

"  I  don't  think  you  can,  Claire.  I  was  going  to  say 
that  to  my  mind  you  and  Roddy  are  simply  in  the  position 
of  the  characters  in  the  play — the  husband  and  wife  who 
disagreed.     You  and  Roddy  are  in  mid-channel." 

"  No,"  said  Claire  forlornly,  "  we're  in  the  middle  of  the. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  23a 

1)  lantic  Ocean,  with  our  ship  split  in  two  by  icebergs, 
^  ing  down,  and  no  help  in  sight.  And  you  forget,  the 
\    fe  in  the  play  killed  herself." 

"Claire!" 

As  she  sat  gazing  at  the  hearth  the  flames  of  the  wood 
f  e  were  sufficient  to  light  up  her  face,  showing  the  delicate 
\  ofile  and  the  slender  chin  all  bright  and  aglow,  ob- 
1  erating  with  radiance  that  look  of  a  person  over-driven^ 
\  \  nted,  vainly  seeking  escape,  which  might  have  been  ob- 
s  :  rved  when  she  was  speaking  just  now.  But  the  drooping 
.8  J  dness  of  her  attitude  somehow  forced  itself  painfully  on 
t  e  attention  of  Mrs.  Gilmour,  and  it  was  with  great 
alfection  that  she  came  and  patted  Claire's  shoulder  before 
s  ]e  resumed  her  promenade. 

"I  have  been  so  proud  of  you,  dear — really  citing  you 
as  an  instance  and  an  example.  To  me  marriage  has 
always  been  such  a  sacred  thing — there  is  no  other  word 
for  it.  And  when  I  saw  you  so  thoroughly  happy,  as  I 
always  believed,  and  never  a  breath  of  scandal — not  sa 
n.uch  as  a  whisper — well,  it  was  a  constant  joy  to  my 
Mother's  heart.  Seeing  you  so  pretty,  and  so  greatly 
admired — seeming  at  one  time  drifting  towards  the  vortex 
0 :  the  very  smartest  set — and  no  one  able  to  hint  a  word 
to  your  disparagement,  you  don't  know  how  proud  it  made 
n  e.  And  now  in  a  moment  to  be  told  that  we  are  to  be 
plunged  into  what  must  be  a  terrible  scandal." 

"  There  need  be  no  scandal.  Mother,  I  have  done 
n>thing  wrong." 

"  But  what  would  everybody  think  when  they  heard 
y3u  were  separated  from  your  husband.'^  What  would 
n  3t  the  talk  be — even  if  the  newspapers  left  us  alone?  I 
siiould  simply  feel  myself  a  prisoner  in  this  house.  I  could 
n)t  go  out  and  face  people.  Oh,  no,  Claire,"  and  Mrs. 
G  ihnour  spoke  with  much  feeling,  "  you  really  must  spare 
Ui.  As  your  mother,  I  do  appeal  to  you  not  to  drag  us- 
a  1  through  such  an  ordeal  as  that,'' 


234.  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Claire  said  little  more ;  but  while  her  mother  talked  on 
stared  at  the  dancing  flames  of  the  fire.  They  were  not 
unlike  Mrs.  Gilmour's  thoughts:  flashing  feebly  here  and 
there,  fading,  dying  down,  then  bursting  out  in  another 
place,  and  again  returning  to  the  same  spot. 

"  Take  Cyril  to  begin  with.  He  would  never  for  a 
moment  consent."  And,  digressing,  Mrs.  Gilmour  enlarged 
upon  her  delight  in  Cyril's  marvellous  change  of  character. 
The  war  had  been  the  making  of  him.  He  was  now  a  stafF- 
officer;  also  a  man  with  settled  convictions,  grave  and 
serious,  full  of  lofty  aims,  and  holding  the  very  strictest 
views  with  regard  to  propriety  and  decorum  of  conduct  in 
all  relations  of  life.  "  And  that  reminds  me  of  the  havoc 
that  would  be  wrought  in  Cyril's  career  if  you  persisted — 
yes,  I  must  say  it, — if  you  selfishly  persisted  after  what 
I  am  going  to  tell  you.  It  is  a  secret — ^but  no  matter. 
Cyril  did  not  go  to  see  you  during  his  last  leave,  did  he? 
No.  Well,  dear,  he  was  very  much  occupied.'^  She  said 
this  archly  and  gaily.  Then  in  a  solemn  tone  she  told  the 
secret  of  Cyril's  engagement  to  Lady  Esther  Leach,  the 
elder  daughter  of  that  well-known  religious  and  philan- 
thropic peer.  Lord  Bedminster.  The  young  lady  was  a 
little  older  than  Cyril,  but  a  noble,  high-minded  creature, 
reared  in  the  midst  of  piety  and  good  works.  Now  was 
it  to  be  supposed  that  either  she  or  her  relatives  would 
continue  to  contemplate  alliance  with  a  family  concerning 
which  Claire  had  occasioned  chatter  and  evil  report?  The 
match  would  be  at  once  broken  and  Cyril's  heart  with  it. 
"  No,  dear,  is  it  likely  that  you  will  get  any  assistance 
from  Cyril?" 

Then  she  told  Claire  another  secret.  Leonard  Joyce 
had  deserved  well  of  his  country  by  working  at  one  of  the 
new  ministries  after  his  own  office  hours,  and  Emily  was 
eagerly  waiting  for  the  next  Honours  List,  confident  that 
her  husband's  name  would  appear  in  it  under  the  heading. 
Knighthoods.     Further,  Claire's  eldest  brother  John,  for 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  235 

err :  lent  services  in  connection  with  shipping,  would  almost 
cer  ainly  be  given  his  long-delayed  and  over-ripe  baron- 
et(  .  But  might  not  the  Government,  now  more  than 
ev  cautious  as  to  public  opinion,  be  fearful  of  permitting 
th  fountain  of  honour  to  play  upon  anybody  whose  con- 
ne  :ions  were  involved  in  domestic  disputes  and  consequent 
ill  latured  gossip?  "  No,  it  would  be  idle  to  expect  either 
L(  (  nard  or  John  to  take  such  a  risk,  and  back  you  up> 
CI  ire,  at  such  a  time  as  this." 

.  md  Mrs.  Gilmour  summed  up  this  side  of  the  argument 
b}  asking  Claire,  in  effect,  could  she  be  cruel  enough  for 
he:  own  selfish  ends  and  rather  than  submitting  patiently 
to  I  little  personal  discomfort,  to  rob  Cyril  of  an  eminently 
re  i  pectable  wife  and  deprive  Emily,  Leonard,  and  John  of 
the  legitimate  gratification  of  a  very  natural  and  proper 
desire? 

♦  Then  Mrs.  Gilmour  said  a  few  words  about  herself. 
The  war  had  not  made  her  feel  younger.  Rather  the 
reverse.  Upsets  upset  her  more  than  they  used  to  do, 
*^  At  my  age,  nights  passed  in  the  coal  cellar  when  these 
inhuman  fiends  are  bombing  the  defenceless  town  naturally 
try  the  health.  I  have  answered  every  call  in  a  patriotic 
sf  irit,  without  murmuring,  and  still  this  appalling  taxation 
increases.  My  means,  once  considered  large,  are  dwindling 
to  nothing.  Cyril's  marriage  will  probably  clean  me  out — 
a^  Leonard  would  say.  High  prices,  fuel  not  available, 
food  scarce,  restrictions  on  lighting!  No,  believe  me, 
C  aire,  these  are  not  comfortable  times  to  live  in,  either 
fcr  you  or  anybody  else.  First  they  took  my  horses,  then 
it  was  my  car.  I  made  no  complaint.  What  must  be, 
n  ust  be.  Three-quarters  of  the  house  are  shut  up.  Nearly 
a  1  the  women  servants  are  gone.  I  am  reduced  to  a 
S(»litary  candle  in  the  hall  to  save  electricity.  I  dare 
s  ly  you  noticed  it.  What  would  your  father  have  said? 
]\[y  odd  man  is  now  an  old,  old  fellow  who  comes  every 
n  orning,  and  looks  just  like  a  Chelsea  Pensioner  out  of 


236  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

uniform.  Last  of  all,  if  you  please,  they  wanted  to  take 
Belton  from  me.  But  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour  very 
sternly,  *^  they  shall  not  do.  Nothing  shall  make  me  part 
with  old  Belton." 

Then  her  features  relaxed  and  she  smiled  playfully. 
**  This  will  amuse  you,  Claire.  Between  you  and  me, 
Belton  is  not  nearly  as  old  as  he  pretends.  He  keeps 
adding  on  the  years  to  keep  pace  with  the  rising  age  limit. 
And  always  telling  me  tales  about  his  infirmities!  He 
shuffles  about  the  house  limping  from  chronic  rheumatism, 
and  he  coughs,  and  waits  at  table  in  spectacles  alleging 
defective  eye-sight.  Emily  said  I  ought  to  make  him  go; 
but  I  thought  that  rather  heartless  of  Emily — especially, 
considering  her  tenacity  in  keeping  Leonard  safe  at  home." 

Claire,  walking  away  from  the  house,  thought  of  her 
family  with  all  the  bitterness  of  which  she  was  capable. 
They  would  not  help  her,  they  made  light  of  her  trouble. 
They  could  not  understand  that  it  must  be  great  indeed 
if  it  carried  such  loss  of  pride,  as  might  be  inferred  by  her 
being  willing  to  let  them  know  of  it.  Engrossed  in  their 
own  affairs,  they  would  not  stir  a  finger  on  her  behalf. 
And  comparing  them  with  that  other  family,  the  larger- 
minded  relatives  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Budleigh,  she  remembered 
what  an  unconverted  Cyril  used  to  say  years  and  years 
ago.  They  were  middle-class,  half  and  half  people,  this 
family  of  hers;  timid  in  their  virtues,  living  always  on 
the  smooth  surface  of  things ;  and  dreading  even  a  glimpse 
of  the  depths  beneath. 

She  was  going  home  by  train  from  Sloane  Square 
station,  and  as  she  passed  the  church  she  thought  of  her 
wedding.  Just  perceptible  in  the  darkness  the  sacred 
building  loomed  high  and  black  above  her,  its  iron  railings 
and  chained  gates  invisible  though  almost  within  reach 
of  her  hand.  Closed  at  night,  it  still  did  a  brisk  business 
by  day.  Claire  thought  of  her  own  wedding  and  the  hun- 
dreds of  weddings  solemnized  there  since  then;  the  con- 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  237 

I  act   lightly  entered;   the   clergy  taking  no   future  re- 

)onsibility5  asking  no  questions,  unless  inquiring  what 
'  ctras  were  required,  such  as  music,  singing,  flowers,  and! 

•d  carpets,  pocketing  their  fees,  just  tying  people  to- 
.  3ther  without  a  thought  as  to  whether  their  piece  of  work 
'  as  likely  to  lead  to  misery  or  not. 

Presently  on  the  station  platform,  hustled  and  pushed 
r  >  and  fro  by  the  endless  war  crowd  which  now  always 
s  »emed  in  movement,  even  late  at  night  like  this,  she  was 
linking  of  how  she  had  met  Roddy  here  that  day  when 
re  accompanied  her  on  her  visit  to  Nurse  Mitchell.  They 
stood  just  here  watching  the  indicator  board,  waiting  for 
ttie  little  fiery  arrow  to  announce  the  Richmond  train; 
ibe  contended  and  at  ease,  innocent  of  all  evil;  and  he  gal- 
Unt,  deferential,  wrapping  her  round  with  solicitous  care. 
When  the  two  lights  came  gliding  towards  them  out  of 
the  tunnel,  he  gently  led  her  forward.  If  she  had  known, 
it  would  have  been  better  to  throw  herself  under  the  train 
than  get  into  the  carriage  with  him. 

About  a  week  later  she  received  a  letter  from  Cyril 
imploring  her  not  to  allow  her  difference  with  Roddy  to 
grow  wider.  The  curious  priggish  eloquence  of  the  letter 
astounded,  her.  Truly  the  war  had  changed  him  from  the 
Cyril  who  would  not  get  up  of  a  morning,  and  whose 
thoughts  were  habitually  set  to  the  music  of  revue  choruses. 
He  quoted  the  poetry  of  Rupert  Brooke  and  the  essays 
of  "  A  Student  in  Arms  "  nowadays. 

He  said  nothing  of  his  engagement,  as  if  that  was  a 
matter  too  delicate  and  refined  for  allusion  when  speaking 
to  somebody  in  Claire's  present  state  of  mind;  and  his 
last  sentence  was  at  once  an  insult  and  a  command.  Lap- 
sing towards  slanginess,  he  told  Claire  to  "  drop  it,"  to 
"  run  straight,"  and  never  to  bring  disgrace  upon  those 
who  had  always  wished  her  well. 

But  Claire  could  not  drop  it  at  the  outrageously- 
worded  command  of  her  brother  Cyril, 


238      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Suddenly  she  had  an  idea  that  seemed  like  an  inspiration. 
There  was  one  person  who  would  not  only  understand 
everything,  but  be  able  to  give  her  counsel  and  guidance. 
That  was  Evan  Giles.  She  had  the  innocent  and  still  not 
uncommon  belief  that  an  author  is  wise  and  far-knowing 
beyond  other  men;  moreover,  Mr.  Giles  was  a  very  old 
friend  for  whom  she  had  always  felt  great  respect.  From 
her  childhood  he  on  his  side  had  treated  her  with  a  very 
special  consideration,  showing  in  a  hundred  ways  that  he 
held  her  in  affectionate  regard.  Mr.  Giles  would  help 
her. 

So  she  set  forth  at  dusk  one  afternoon  to  seek  him  in  his 
home  at  St.  John's  Wood.  The  houses  of  his  road  were 
low  and  old-fashioned,  with  little  front  gardens  and  tiny 
carriage  drives ;  but  this  part  of  the  town  had  been  knocked 
about  by  air  raids  and  many  of  the  garden  gates  were 
barricaded.  The  whole  road  had  a  deserted  and  abandoned 
aspect  as  she  passed  along  it  in  the  gathering  darkness. 

She  found  the  house  at  the  end  of  the  road,  and  as  she 
stood  on  the  steps  of  the  porch,  she  heard  sounds  of  noisy 
mirthful  voices  within. 

A  slatternly  maid-servant  said  that  Mr.  Giles  was  at 
home,  and  Mrs.  Giles  too.  "  Come  in,"  said  the  servant. 
"  I  want  to  shut  the  door.  The  police  are  so  mighty 
particular  about  the  lights  showing." 

Claire  obeyed,  but  with  embarrassment.  She  had  not 
thought  of  Mrs.  Giles.  She  knew  that  her  old  friend  was 
married,  although  he  never  spoke  of  his  wife.  She  had 
never  seen  Mrs.  Giles  at  Hague  House,  or  anywhere  else. 

"  This  way,"  said  the  servant,  and  next  moment  Claire 
was  plunged  into  a  brilliantly  lighted  dining-room  with 
the  merry  party  whose  laughter  she  had  heard  all  seated 
round  the  table  at  tea. 

Mrs.  Giles,  a  stout,  red-faced  woman  of  over  forty,  wel- 
comed her  in  a  manner  which,  although  sufficiently  cordial, 
did  not  set  her  at  her  ease. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  239 

•  Never?  "  said  this  lady.  "  Mrs.  Roderick  Vaughan — 
M  is  Gilmour  that  was!  Well,  this  is  a  surprise — and  an 
uii  xpected  honour,  too,  I'm  sure.  Make  room,  you  boys. 
G  :  up,  Vi ;  "  and  she  reproved  her  daughter  for  want  of 
m  nners.  "  Now,  Major,  squeeze  in  a  chair  next  to  you. 
E^an,  why  don't  you  take  Mrs.  Vaughan's  scarf,  instead 
oi  gaping  helpless  ?  "  And  she  laughed.  "  The  most  help- 
les  5  being  on  this  earth,  Mrs.  Vaughan — that  husband  of 
ml  le.     Do  please  be  seated." 

'  So  glad  to  see  you,  Claire,"  Evan  Giles  was  mur- 
m  I  ring  nervously.  "  So  very  glad,  indeed.  Vi,  I'll  take 
your  chair,  and  Mrs.  Vaughan  shall  have  mine." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Giles  gaily.  "  She  must  sit  next 
to  the  author  of  *  Blind  Purposes.'  We're  very  proud  of 
hiin,  you  know,  though  we  don't  read  his  books." 

"  And  precious  few  other  people  read  'em  either,  as  far 
as  I  can  make  out,"  said  Mrs.  Giles  curtly. 

Gradually  then  the  disturbance  caused  by  Claire's  ar- 
rival subsided;  everybody  sat  down  again,  and  conver- 
sation was  generally  resumed.  The  daughter,  a  girl  of 
twenty-one  or  twenty-two,  was  in  uniform,  and  she  laughed 
and  joked  freely  with  two  young  men  who  were  dressed 
as  officers  of  the  Flying  Corps.  The  major  belonged  to 
the  A.S.C.,  with  his  headquarters  somewhere  close  by.  He 
also  was  red  in  the  face,  and  neither  so  young  nor  so  thin 
as  he  used  to  be.  Evidently  he  enjoyed  a  reputation  for 
having  a  merry  tongue ;  and  Mrs.  Giles  said  once  that  he 
would  be  the  death  of  her  if  he  did  not  stop  whispering. 
She  gave  Claire  to  understand  that  the  major  was  a 
privileged  person,  and  described  him  as  an  old  flirt  of  hers. 
J.  thin,  weather-beaten  man  of  middle  life  had  civilian 
cDstume  of  a  sporting  character,  with  an  immense  white 
hunting-scarf.  He  was  part  proprietor  of  livery  stables, 
e  s  Mrs.  Giles  explained,  and  throughout  the  war  had  been 
luying  horses  for  the  Government.  She  called  him  her 
^  faithful  aide-de-camp,"  and  when  he  and  the  major  con- 


240  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

tested  the  right  to  fill  her  glass  with  more  whisky  and 
soda  water,  she  said  she  would  not  have  them  quarrelling. 
And  she  bridled,  and  smiled  at  Claire,  nodded  as  if  to  imply 
that  these  two  were  always  disputing  her  favours  and 
needed  tactful  management.  Then,  as  if  doubtful 
whether  she  had  made  her  meaning  apparent,  she  said, 
"  Oh,  these  men,  Mrs.  Vaughan  1  What  a  lot  of  keeping 
in  order  they  require,  don't  they?  They  pretend  to  be 
our  slaves,  but  always  wanting  to  tyrannize.  But  I  needn't 
tell  you  anything — the  beautiful  Mrs.  Vaughan,  as  they 
used  to  call  you  in  the  papers.  How  they  did  put  your 
pictures  in,  to  be  sure!  But,  of  course,  the  war  has  cut 
down  the  papers  to  nothing.  Ruined  literature,  too — if 
we're  to  believe  my  husband's  tale." 

It  was  afternoon  tea,  but  everybody  except  the  host 
and  his  daughter  was  taking  something  stronger.  There 
were  decanters  and  black  bottles  on  the  sideboard;  and 
Mrs.  Giles  again  criticized  Miss  Vi's  want  of  manners, 
because  she  did  not  persuade  Mrs.  Vaughan  to  have  a 
glass  of  cura9ao  after  walking  about  in  the  fog 
and  cold. 

"  It's  old  stuff,"  she  said.     "  Real  cura9ao — ^pre-war." 

"  Ah,  me,"  said  the  major,  ceasing  to  be  merry,  and 
speaking  with  great  seriousness.  "  The  old  stuff  is  be- 
coming scarcer  every  day.  I  don't  know  what  we  are 
coming  to."  And  he  lamented  the  loss  of  certain  of  his 
official  privileges.  He  could  no  longer  get  whisky  out 
of  bond  and  give  a  bottle  or  two  of  the  real  article  to 
friends,  as  he  used  to  do  in  the  earlier  days  of  the  war. 

Then  again  they  laughed  and  joked  amongst  themselves, 
leaving  Claire  unquestioned,  while  she  drank  her  cup  of 
luke-warm  tea.  They  were  all  going  later  on  to  a  place  of 
entertainment,  the  major  driving  them  first  to  a  restaurant 
in  his  big  Government  car;  but  there  was  time  for  a 
game  of  bridge  between  now  and  then.  Mrs.  Giles  and 
her  two  flirts  would  play  cards,  and  one  of  the  flying 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  241 

ofi  cers  should  make  a  fourth,  while  the  other  "  did  a  quiet 
S]i  ion,  with  Vi."  There  tvas  much  pleasant  fun  as  to 
wl  ich  should  play  and  which  should  sit  out.  All  talked 
t(/  ^ether. 

•'  I'll  toss  you  for  the  lady.  Heads  the  spoon,  tails  the 
ta  )le."  ..."  I'll  stand  your  losses,  and  you  shall  keep 
y:  iir  gains  if  you'll  give  her  up  to  me."  ..."  Oh,  you 
boys."  .  .  .  "Mother,  I  object.  I'm  not  going  to  be 
bmdied  about  in  this  undignified  manner."  .  .  .  "All 
rijjht,  let  her  decide  herself."  .  .  .  "Now,  that's  a  fair 
o:Ter."  ..."  Miss  Vi,  say  which  you  prefer,  and  put  them 

0  t  of  their  misery." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Miss  Vi  archly,  "  that  would  be  telling." 

In  the  midst  of  it  all,  Evan  Giles  sat  silent  and  re* 
pressed,  only  rousing  himself  to  murmur  nervously  to 
Claire.  He  looked  old  and  worn  and  sad,  his  long  grey 
hfir  untidy,  his  velveteen  jacket  faded  and  rubbed,  quite 
threadbare  at  the  wrists.  Claire  noticed,  too — indeed,  no 
one  could  have  helped  noticing — the  lack  of  respect  shown 
to  him,  both  by  his  wife  and  his  daughter.  They  made 
stupid  jokes  about  him,  as  though  it  was  a  custom  of  the 
house.  The  daughter  was  merely  flippant;  but  the  wife 
\\'as  rude,  and  one  caught  an  ugly,  sneering  tone  in  her 
voice  that  was  very  repellent. 

"  Won't  Mr.  Giles  take  a  hand?  "  said  one  of  the  young 
men. 

"  The  talented  author  of  The  Dreaw,  Valley  doesn't 
Inow  one  card  from  another,"  said  his  daughter. 

"  Mark  of  genius,  we're  to  suppose,"  said  his  wife 
sneeringly. 

"P'raps  Mrs.  Vaughan  will  oblige.?" 

"  No,"  said  Giles  gently.     "  Mrs.  Vaughan  and  I  are 
i;oing  to  have  a  quiet  chat  together.    You  must  come  into 
3  ly  den,  Claire." 
/     "  Den !  "  said  Mrs.  Giles.     "  Pig-sty,  /  call  it.     And, 

1  Dok  here,  Evan,  if  you're  going  to  drag  Mrs.  Vaughan  in 


242  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

there,  you  just  ring  the  bell  and  tell  the  girl  to  light  the 
gas  fire." 

"  I'll  light  it  myself,"  said  Giles  quietly.  "  Put  on  your 
cloak  again,  Claire.     Let  me  help  you." 

He  led  her  across  the  narrow  hall  into  the  untidiest 
room  that  she  had  ever  seen  in  her  life.  It  was  lined 
with  book-shelves,  but  half  the  books  that  ought  to  have 
been  on  the  shelves  were  on  the  floor,  or  on  the  large, 
central  writing-table,  or  on  the  seats  of  chairs;  and  the 
remainder  were  tossed  about  as  if  mischievous  children 
had  been  playing  with  them.  Everywhere,  in  basket  trays 
and  large  portfolios,  overflowing  from  the  central  table 
and  other  tables,  there  was  an  inextricable  confusion  of 
papers.  Everything  was  dusty.  The  whole  room  smelt  of 
dust  and  tobacco  smoke,  and  when  Giles  rose  from  his 
knees  after  lighting  the  fire  it  began  to  smell  of  gas,  too. 

"  It  is  sweet  of  you  to  come  like  this,  Claire,  and  I  am 
truly  glad  to  see  you.  Such  ages  since  we  met — those 
jolly  parties  at  your  house.  I  hope  the  world  has  been 
treating  you  well — and  your  pretty  little  Gladys." 

Now  was  the  time  for  Claire  to  speak  of  her  trouble  and 
ask  for  his  advice.  But  she  could  not  do  it.  He  was  so 
evidently  a  man  worried,  harassed  by  his  own  thoughts. 
Absent-minded  often,  he  now  seemed  preoccupied  with 
some  permanent  care ;  here,  in  his  own  house,  he  was  ill  at 
ease,  nervous,  quite  different  from  the  Evan  Giles  she  had 
come  to  find.  She  must  postpone  the  purpose  of  her 
visit. 

"  And  this  Is  your  workshop?  "  she  said  sympathet- 
ically ;  with  genuine  reverence  and  interest,  yet  innocently 
echoing  the  phrase  of  the  professional  visitor — "  the  room 
in  which  you  do  your  beautiful  work  ?  " 

"  My  beautiful  work ! "  And  he  gave  a  sigh  like  a 
groan.  Then  he  went  on,  with  a  smile,  *'  Yes,  dear  Claire, 
this  IS  the  hallowed  spot  where  I  scribble  away  for  dear 
life.     My  work  just  now  is  what  we  call  book-making 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  243 

rj  her  than  book-writing.  Historical  monographs !  And 
I't  .  doing  a  little  criticism — articles  for  the  quarterlies. 
Tl  e  solider  form  of  fiction  has  gone  down  in  this  war,  like 
S(    many  other  solid  things." 

rhey  talked  about  books  for  a  little  while,  although 
h  '  seemed  to  be  listening  to  the  ebb  and  flow  of  noise  that 
cu  ne  from  the  card-players  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall. 
E  showed  a  sense  of  relief  when  Claire  got  up  to  go ;  but 
he  said  he  would  walk  with  her  to  the  station. 

•'  I'll  say  good-bye  for  you.  But,  no,"  he  added 
n-; rvously,  "  perhaps  you  had  better  do  it  yourself,  if  you 
don't  mind;"  and  he  opened  a  door.  "Mrs.  Vaughan 
is  going." 

"  Oh,  good-bye,"  said  Mrs.  Giles,  without  rising  from 
tlie  card-table.  "  Very  pleased  to  have  made  your  ac- 
qoaintance.  .  .  .  Now,  where  are  we?  Major,  you  said 
Two  Hearts,  didn't  you?     Very  well.     Three  diamonds." 

Giles  seemed  more  at  ease  directly  they  were  outside  the 
house,  and  as  they  walked  side  by  side  in  the  darkness  he 
talked  to  her  of  his  family.  His  boy  Jack  was  a  year 
younger  than  Violet,  a  dear  fellow,  just  coming  out  of 
Sandhurst.  Violet  was  a  heart  of  gold,  devoted  to  him 
really,  although,  like  nearly  all  the  girls  of  to-day,  very 
independent  and  a  little  wilful.  "  One  has  to  guard  against 
adverse  influences.  I  do  my  best,  Claire."  And  then  he 
soemed  to  be  vaguely  apologizing  for  his  wife,  or  trying 
t'>  excuse  anything  that  might  have  seemed  strange  in  her 
behaviour.  "  You  won't  judge  by  first  impressions,  Claire, 
I  know.  My  wife  is  very  open  in  her  nature — by  tem- 
perament fond  of  gaiety.  Nowadays  one  cannot  always 
choose  one's  friends  too  nicely.  One  has  to  let  things 
crift  a  little  when  all  the  world  is  drifting." 

The  further  away  from  the  house  that  they  went,  the 
I  lore  cheerful  he  became,  the  less  unlike  himself.  At  the 
s  fcation  he  bought  a  ticket  in  order  to  go  down  with  her  to 
ibe  platform,  and  as  they  walked  to  and  fro,  waiting  for 


244?  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

her  train,  he  was  again  the  Evan  Giles  of  her  oldest 
memories.  Then,  if  only  there  had  been  time,  she  would 
have  opened  her  heart  to  him. 

"  You  must  come  again,  Claire.  You  have  broken  the 
ice.  We  gave  you  a  dreadful  reception  to-day — but  it  will 
be  all  right  on  another  occasion — no  crowd — only  our- 
selves.    Promise  to  come  soon." 

And  Claire  said  she  would  like  to  come  very  soon  if 
she  might.  She  wanted  to  consult  him  on  a  personal 
question. 

"  Yes,  yes — I  shall  love  to  hear  about  it.  Anything 
that  concerns  you,  Claire.  You  know  what  I  have  thought 
of  you  ever  since  you  were  a  child.  And  nothing  has 
ever — can  ever  change  you.  In  this  ugly,  ugly  world  you 
remain  unaltered,  unspoilt.  .  .  .  Now,  we  must  hustle. 
I  say.  Ring  up  my  wife  on  the  telephone,  and  oifer  your- 
self, will  you?  She'll  like  that.  She's  very  sensitive. 
Good-bye,  Claire.     Good-bye." 

She  followed  his  directions  with  regard  to  the  telephone, 
when  a  few  days  later  she  asked  permission  to  return  to 
St.  John's  Wood,  and  Mrs.  Giles  at  the  other  end  of  the 
wire  answered  very  graciously,  begging  her  to  come  to 
tea  that  same  afternoon. 

But  things  were  not  better  on  this  second  occasion; 
they  were  far,  far  worse. 

Claire  found  the  husband  and  wife  alone,  and  no  other 
visitors  presented  themselves.  But  Giles  looked  more  care- 
worn and  nervous  than  ever,  and  Mrs.  Giles  was  redder  in 
the  face.  She  was  voluble,  with  abrupt  gestures,  and 
suffocating  laughter  that  changed  to  angry  expostulation 
when  Giles  interrupted  her  in  an  anecdote.  Even  if  Gilesi 
had  not  incurred  her  further  violent  displeasure  by  a 
murmured  suggestion  that  she  should  not  neglect  the  tea- 
pot, it  would  have  been  painfully  clear  to  the  most  in- 
nocent observer  that  she  had  already  drunk  more  than  was 
good  for  her  from  those  bottles  on  the  sideboard.    Dressed 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  245 

in  Dutdoor  costume,  she  had  set  her  girlish  toque  at  a 
qi.  erly  rakish  angle,  and  the  yellow  curls  on  one  side  of 
he]  flushed  face  hung  much  lower  than  those  on  the  other 
siu  3. 

•  Well,"  she  said,  suddenly  struggling  to  fix  the  clasp 
of  her  huge  coat  collar,  "  I'll  leave  you  two  to  your 
CO]  fabs.  I  ought  to  have  warned  you,  Mrs.  Vaughan, 
the' t  I  had  to  be  going  out  early." 

Jiles  with  a  tortured  smile,  muttered  something  to  the 
ef  ct  that  she  need  not  tear  off  in  such  a  hurry.  Her 
aj  >  Dointment  would  wait  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

'  Oh,  Mrs.  Vaughan  won't  be  huffed,"  she  replied  curtly, 
"  It's  you  she  came  to  see,  not  me." 

^  I  came  to  see  you  both,"  said  Claire  gently. 

''  Did  you?  "  said  Mrs.  Giles  bridling.  "  Then  that's  a 
qii3er  thing  to  happen  with  Evan's  fine  friends.  You're 
the;  first  that's  ever  troubled  to  do  the  civil  to  his 
w  "e." 

•*  My  dear,"  said  Giles,  "  for  heaven's  sake  don't  drag 
out  absurd  old  grievances." 

But  Mrs.  Giles  was  not  to  be  quieted.  She  asked  Claire 
how  she  would  like  to  have  a  husband  who  habitually  went 
to  parties  at  grand  houses  and  left  his  wife  at  home.  She 
vowed  that  Evan  made  a  secret  of  his  being  married  at 
all.  If  there  was  any  amusement,  instead  of  taking  her 
to  share  in  it,  he  sneaked  off  alone.  "  I  put  up  with  it, 
and  always  have;  but  I'm  not  going  to  pretend  I  enjoy 
begin  snubbed  and  neglected.  What's  more,  if  he  had  any 
g.mtlem^-nly  spirit " 

"  Don't  talk  about  things  you  can't  understand,"  said 
Ciles  bitterly. 

Claire  did  not  know  what  to  do  or  say,  and  next  moment 
tlie  dispute  between  the  husband  and  wife  burst  into  a 
n)isy  quarrel. 

"  That's  enough,"  said  Giles  wildly.  "  For  God's  sake 
h)ld  your  tongue;"  and  he  jumped  up  from  his  chair. 


246  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  No,  Claire,  don't  run  away.  Come  into  my  room.  Don't 
leave  me." 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  leave  him,"  and  Mrs.  Giles  laughed. 
"  I  am  going  myself,  Mrs.  Vaughan." 

Giles  took  the  guest  across  the  hall  to  the  dusty  work- 
shop, and  hurried  back  to  close  accounts  with  his  wife^ 
Claire  heard  them  shouting,  raving  at  each  other.  Then 
they  were  out  in  the  hall,  close  to  the  workshop  door, 
and  it  was  impossible  not  to  hear  nearly  every  word  they 
said.  "  I  forbid  you  to  go  out  while  you  are  in  this  state  " 
— Giles  repeated  the  same  sort  of  phrase  again  and  again, 
"  I  forbid  you  to  go  and  meet  that  man.  I  tell  you,  you 
are  not  in  a  condition  to  go  flaunting  about  London.'* 
And  suddenly  his  wife  overwhelmed  him  with  a  torrent  of 
fierce  abuse.  Claire,  hearing  it  all,  felt  a  thrill  of  horror 
and  disgust.  It  was  the  brutal  voice  of  a  street  virago 
turning  against  a  policeman  at  a  street  corner,  high- 
pitched,  hoarse  with  rage,  terrible.  Next  moment  came 
the  sound  of  scuffled  footsteps;  the  front  door  opened, 
and  closed  with  a  bang  that  shook  the  house.  Mrs.  Giles 
had  gone. 

Evan  Giles  came  into  his  workshop,  and  stood  looking 
at  Claire. 

"  How  can  I  apologize  to  you,"  he  said  jerkily,  "  for, 
well,  for  losing  control  of  myself?  "  His  face  was  twitch- 
ing, and  his  hand  shook  in  a  grotesque  manner,  as  he  auto- 
matically swept   some  books   from  the  seat  of  a  chair. 

*^  Really,   Claire,  to   have   allowed   you  to  witness " 

Then  he  sat  down,  put  his  hands  to  his  brow  as  his  grey 
head  sank,  and  burst  into  violent  noisy  weeping.  "  Oh, 
my  God — my  God." 

"  Mr.  Giles,  don't,  please  don't.  I'm  so  sorry — so 
dreadfully  sorry."  Claire  had  gone  to  him,  and  her  hand 
touching  his  became  wet  with  his  tears. 

"Can't  pretend!"  he  said  brokenly.  "That's  what 
she  told  you,  didn't  she?     Well,  my  pretence  has  failed. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  247 

to:  Oh,  Claire,  if  you  could  understand  how  that  com- 
mn  1,  passionate  woman  has  destroyed  me."  And  he  moved 
his  hand  and  struck  his  breast.  "  All  that  there  was 
in  me — the  little  spark — not  divine  fire,  oh,  no — ^but 
th  little  something  good  that  gave  me  faith  and 
hcj^e.'* 

.  t  was  most  dreadful  to  Claire  to  see  his  grey  hairs 
ar.c  glistening  eyes,  when  presently  he  recovered  some 
coriposure  and  told  her  the  story  of  his  ruined  life.  The 
ugly,  littered  room,  with  its  confusion  and  disarray,  seemed 
to  symbolize  the  slow  wreck  of  hope,  the  submission  to 
eh  OS.  Her  heart  bled  for  him;  an  immense  pity  flowed 
from  her. 

••  Claire,  those  first  books  of  mine  were  all  right. 
Nothing  great — no,  no,  far  from  it.  We  writers,  Claire, 
car't  be  conceited,  can't  be  mistaken — so  long  as  our 
aim  is  high  we  know  how  miserably  we  fall  short.  But 
my  poor  stuff — Blind  Purposes,  and  that — that  other 
thJig — had  a  lift  in  it.  I  was  just  off  the  ground.  Those 
wl  o  knew,  saw  it  was  good  work — so  far  as  it  went." 

•*  It  was  beautiful  work." 

"  Dear  girl,  i/ou  said  so — and  your  praise  was  precious 
to  me.  But  work  of  that  sort  is  the  fruit  of  thought  and 
peace,"  and  he  made  a  despairing  gesture. 

"  It  can't  be  done  in  a  house  like  this — with  a  com- 
panion sneering  at  you,  goading  at  you,  asking  you  why 
you  don't  make  more  money — gloating  over  things  said 
against  you  in  the  press,  counting  the  names  of  the  men 
who  have  gone  over  your  head  since  you  began.  Claire, 
I  ^ave  up  the  fight.  Do  you  remember  what  Stevenson 
sa  d  about  the  artist  who  knowingly  ceases  to  be  con- 
sc:entious  in  his  work?  That  happened  to  me — it  had 
to  happen.  I  was  lost;  for  my  belief  in  mjself  was  the 
th  ng  I  couldn't  afford  to  give  away.  But  she  took  it, 
CI  lire.  She  had  taken  everything  else  from  me — and  she 
to  )k  that,  too." 


248  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

He  was  calm  again  now;  but  nothing  could  check  the 
stream  of  his  words. 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  tell  you,  Claire.  There's  no  need,  I 
know.  Your  bright  intelligence  sees  it  all  by  now.  But 
I've  said  so  much,  I'd  like  to  tell  you  everything. 

"  I  went  on  scribbling  dully  and  stupidly,  as  people  do 
when  the  light  has  gone  out  of  them  and  their  thought 
is  only  of  gain.  I  didn't  shirk,  Claire.  I  have  worked 
very  hard,  you  know — to  keep  the  pot  boiling,  clothe  and 
feed  the  children,  find  their  mother  in  cab  fares  when  she 
went  to  meet  her  lovers,  and  pay  the  wine  merchant's  bill  • 
after  she'd  taken  to  drink. 

"  Of  course  she  was  unfaithful.  She  filled  the  noisy 
background  of  my  life  with  possible,  probable  co- 
respondents— common  brutes ;  grooms,  horse-jockeys,  any- 
body you  like ;  "  and  he  had  a  bitter  smile.  "  That  fellow 
from  the  livery  stable,  and  that  quartermaster  fellow, 
that  you  saw  the  other  day,  were  princes  among  them. 
Why  didn't  I  divorce  her?  you'll  ask.  Claire,  in  the 
beginning  I  was  cowardly  about  it.  I  dreaded  the  dis- 
grace of  it — and  the  loss  of  influence,  too,  that  I  should 
suffer  as  more  or  less  of  a  public  man.  And,  Claire,  I'll 
confess  the  truth,  even  if  it  makes  you  feel  contempt  for 
me.  In  those  early  times  I  was  still  fond  of  her,  the  chain 
of  the  flesh  still  held  me — I,  well,  I  persuaded  myself  it 
was  a  fine  thing  to  do  to  swallow  my  dishonour  like  a  dose 
of  filthy  medicine  now  and  then — and  forgive  and  forget. 
Claire,  I  oughtn't  to  speak  of  such  things  to  you.  But 
it's  all  summed  up  in  the  Kreutzer  Sonata,  the  truest 
and  most  atrocious  book  that  a  man  ever  wrote.  We 
went  on  like  that — like  brute  beasts,  snarling,  fighting, 
and  then  lying  down  together  in  the  same  lair. 

"  After  that,  when  the  last  animal  glow  of  love  was 
gone,  I  just  let  things  drift,  and  very  soon  it  was  too  late. 
The  children  were  growing  too  old.  Claire,  my  only  hope 
is  that  Vi  may  get  decently  married  before  she  finds  out 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE     "         24^ 

^ ;  at  her  mother  really  was,  and  that  Jack  may  have  been 
s  i  knocked  about  that  he  will  be  hard  enough  to  stand  it 
wl  en  the  truth  hits  him  in  the  face.  Of  course  they  both 
k  3W  she  drinks;  but  they  don't  know  anything  else.  Vi 
if  quite  innocent  so  far — quite  straight,  on  my  honour, 
C  i  lire.  Of  course,  too,  I've  weakly  hoped  that  time  would 
h  p  me.  She  is  close  on  forty-five,  Claire.  She,  she  must 
r  >  'orm — or  grow  tired  of  men  some  day.  But  I  shan't 
\^  *  it  for  that,  if  only  I  can  see  my  girl  and  my  boy  es- 
t  1 3lished  in  life.  I  shall  sing  my  Nunc  Dimittis  very 
q  ]  ietly.    Nothing  theatrical  or  sensational — no  last  words 

0  '  exit  speech."  And  he  smiled  again.  "  Who  cares  or 
n:tices  when  a  failure  goes  off  the  stage?  Small  para- 
graph at  the  bottom  of  a  column — if  it  isn't  crowded  out 
b)  the  pressure  of  more  important  news:  '  Fatal  accident 
to  an  author,'  or,  ^  Mr.  Evan  Giles,  a  writer  once  popular 
with  a  certain  class  of  readers,  but  long  since  forgotten, 
was  found  dead  yesterday  morning  an  the  North  London 
Railway.'  " 

Claire  had  jumped  up,  and  again  she  touched  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  no,  if  you  did  that,  it  would  indeed  be  cowardly, 
a  ad  unworthy  of  you."  And  forgetting  something  that 
she  herself  had  said,  she  implored  this  broken-hearted  man 
n3ver  to  trifle  even  in  thought  with  the  terrible  word 
suicide. 

"  No,  Claire.     Dismiss  it  from  your  dear  pitiful  mind, 

1  ought  not  to  have  said  it.  Of  course,  I  don't  mean  it. 
The  people  who  talk  as  I  did,  never  mean  it,  Claire." 

And  soon  he  spoke  sensibly  and  philosophically,  de- 
t  iching  himself  from  the  personal  point  of  view  and  trying 
t )  generalize. 

"  After  all,  I  am  no  worse  off  than  thousands  of  others. 
A  t  the  bottom  of  all  such  tragedies — for  they  are  tragedies 
-  -lies  the  folly  and  injustice  of  our  marriage  law.  It's  a 
c  irsed  law,  Claire.  If  two  people  don't  agree,  can't  live 
t  )gether  happily,  their  marriage  should  be  annulled  at 


260  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

once — without  delay,  without  disgrace,  without  waiting 
for  the  sin  and  shame  that  will  certainly  come  if  they 
are  kept  tied  together."  Then  abruptly  he  swung  back 
to  the  personal  standpoint.  "  Suppose  she  and  I  could 
have  got  free  directly  we  found  that  our  marriage  was 
likely  to  prove  a  damnable  failure — I  mean  twenty  years 
ago — each  of  us  might  have  been  happy.  We  could  have 
parted  without  pain — even  with  a  kindly  feeling.  With 
another  sort  of  man  she  might  never  have  sunk.  At  least, 
she  would  have  had  a  better  chance." 

Claire  was  thinking  of  herself  now,  and  of  the  strange 
hazard  that  had  made  her  think  of  asking  Evan  Giles  to 
help  her  with  advice.  She  went  away  presently,  abashed 
by  a  misery  that  seemed  greater  than  her  own. 

The  impression  created  by  that  scene  in  the  dusty,  lit- 
tered room  did  not  fade  easily;  and  longing,  in  however 
small  a  degree,  to  comfort  him,  she  invited  Giles  to 
luncheon  or  to  tea  several  times,  when  she  was  sure  that 
Roddy  would  be  out  of  the  way.  It  was,  outwardly,  just 
the  old  Evan  Giles  who  gladly  availed  himself  of  these 
invitations.  He  made  no  allusion  to  his  domestic  life; 
he  was  whimsical,  genially  cynical,  and  delightful  in  his 
'treatment  of  Gladys. 

She  told  Roddy  of  these  visits,  and  he  did  not  disap- 
prove. 

"  I  have  not  forgotten,  Roddy,  that  you  said  I  wasn't 
to  ask  him  to  meet  your  friends;  but  you  don't  mind  his 
coming  to  a  meal  with  Gladys  and  me  when  we  are  all 
alone.?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind ;  "  and  Roddy  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders.    "  There's  no  accounting  for  tastes." 

But  then  Mrs.  Giles  intervened.     Feeling  her  dignity 
outraged,  she  had  taken  up  her  pen  and  written  in  a  very 
offensive  strain.     Of  late  Roddy  had  developed  a  habit  of  , 
opening  Claire's  letters,  and  he  opened  this  one. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  251 

"  There,"  he  said,  tossing  it  across  the  breakfast-table, 
^*  that's  what  you  bring  on  yourself.  Perhaps  you'll  see 
v:  10  was  right,  after  all.  Perhaps  you'll  drop  that  shabby y 
c  dging  humbug  for  good  now." 

Claire  flushed  hotly,  as  she  in  her  turn  read  the  imper- 
t  aent  note.  Mrs.  Giles  presented  her  compliments  to 
rv  ,'rs.  Vaughan,  and  said  that  after  the  very  strong  hint 
.^  le  had  let  fall,  she  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  Mrs* 
\aughan's  conduct  in  inviting  Mr.  Giles  to  parties  with« 
oit  his  wife.  She  begged  once  more  to  remind  Mrs. 
\aughan  that  Mr.  Giles  was  not  a  bachelor,  but  a  mar- 
red  man. 

Next  day  Evan  Giles  himself  wrote  to  Claire,  sadly 
t3xplaining  and  apologizing. 

"  After  what  I  have  told  you,  you  will  understand  the 
tremendous  irony  of  the  fact  that  she  is  always  jealous  of 
me*  Once  seen,  you  are  too  attractive,  my  dear  Claire,  for 
me  to  be  allowed  the  solace  of  your  friendship.  Thank 
you,  dear  kind  girl,  for  your  pitying  kindness.  I  have 
fallen  low  to  let  you  know  all  my  miserable  secrets.  Q 
shade  of  Carlyle !  A  brave  man  should  consume  his  own 
smoke.?     Burn  this  letter  and  forget 

"  Your  unhappy  E.  G." 

Claire  burned  the  letter,  but  she  always  remembered  its 
words.  She  never  saw  his  handwriting  or  heard  his  voice 
again. 

During  this  brief  period  of  final  intercourse  with  the 
friend  of  her  youth,  she  had  taken  the  extreme  measure 
of  asking  legal  advice  in  regard  to  her  great  desire.  One 
morning  she  went  to  Gray's  Inn,  and  consulted  the  solici- 
tors  of  her  family. 

Mr.  Collie,  senior,  the  head  of  the  firm,  received  her 
with  much  courtesy  and  kindness ;  but  he  was  so  engrossed 
by  war  grievances — such  as  the  absence  of  his  son,  the 


252  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

extra  work  thrown  on  his  hands,  the  unfairness  of  the 
super  tax,  and  so  forth — that  it  seemed  as  if  he  could 
only  give  his  cHent  a  divided  attention.  "Tie  certainly  did 
not  help  her. 

He  said  he  thought  a  separation  by  agreement  a  very 
unsatisfactory  way  of  doing  things.  Again,  if  Captain 
Vaughan  did  not  agree,  what  then.'^  No,  he  thought  a 
judicial  separation,  if  possible,  would  be  the  thing.  But, 
still  again,  was  it  possible? 

"  If  there  has  been  infidelity,  you  don't  seem  to  have 
any  proof  of  it.  You  don't  seem  even  to  have  protested 
against  it.  Your  husband  has  not  left  you,  and  he  has 
not  been  cruel  to  you."  Then,  seeing  the  surprised  ex- 
pression of  Claire's  face,  Mr.  Collie  talked  a  little  of 
cruelty  as  understood  in  the  legal  sense  of  the  term. 
**  What  you  have  told  me  so  far  really  only  amounts  to 
this :  Your  husband  makes  you  uncomfortable.     He  is  not 

a  pleasant  companion  to  live  with,  but "  and  he  made 

a  deprecating  gesture  with  his  hands.  "  But,  after  all, 
your  health  hasn't  suffered.  It  struck  me,  if  I  may  say 
so,  just  now  when  you  came  into  the  room,  that  you  were 
looking  extremely  well — and  I  suppose  at  my  age  I  may 
venture  to  add,  in  very  good  looks ;  "  and  he  bowed  and 
smiled.  "  Of  course,  Mrs.  Vaughan,  I  need  not  say  that 
the  services  of  the  firm  are  entirely  at  your  disposal  in 
the  matter — should  you  decide  to  carry  it  further.  I 
only  wish  my  son  was  here.  Three  and  a  half  years  they 
have  detained  him  in  the  Army.  Three  and  a  half  years, 
Mrs.  Vaughan.  I  shan't  wound  you  now  by  confessing  I 
formed  an  unfavourable  opinion  of  your  husband  when  I 
first  met  him,  before  the  marriage.  Your  relatives,  how- 
ever, allowed  me  to  be  over-ruled  in  every  suggestion  I 
made.  By  the  way  " — and  he  spoke  briskly,  as  if  stimu- 
lated by  a  new  idea^ — "  have  you  broached  this  subject 
to  Mrs.  Gilmour?  I  have  a  sort  of  notion  that  she  won't 
take  kindly  to  it." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  253 

And  as  he  ushered  Claire  through  the  outer  offices,  and 
1  the  top  of  the  old  Georgian  staircase,  he  talked  of  her 
I    Dther. 

"  Mrs.  Gilmour  will  not  answer  letters.  I  suppose  I 
]  Lve  written  to  her  six  times  on  a  quite  important  matter 
-   -and  not  a  word  in  reply.     If  you're  seeing  her  I  wish 

)u'd  jog  her  memory.  You  might  just  hint  that  as  I 
i  n  single-handed  here,  owing  to  the  war,  it  is  not  very 
«  insiderate  to  give  me  additional  and  unnecessary  labour.'* 

Mr.  Collie  could  not  or  would  not  help  Claire.  No  one 
^  ould  help  her.  People  were  too  busy,  too  much  preoccu- 
])ied  with  their  private  affairs,  even  to  understand  or  be- 
lieve in  her  bitter  need  of  help. 

But  Aunt  Agnes  understood.  At  the  first  vague  word 
lliat  her  niece  uttered  she  took  fire. 

"  Of  course,  my  poor  angel,  get  rid  of  him.  Don't  hesi- 
tate a  moment.  Never  mind  what  anybody  says.  What's 
it  got  to  do  with  them,  I'd  like  to  know.  No  half  measures, 
Claire.  Go  for  him  hammer  and  tongs.  Divorce  the 
brute." 

Miss  Graham  was  ill  in  bed ;  but  she  scrambled  up  to  a 
idtting  posture,  tumbled  off  the  lace  shawl  that  had  been 
<!0vering  her  head,  and  let  her  white  hair  fall  as  she 
:alked  to  Claire.  Her  eyes  glittered;  her  weak  voice 
:hrillcd  with  the  strength  of  her  convictions. 

"  First  of  all,  if  it's  any  question  of  money,  I'll  provide 
that.  I  don't  care  what  it  costs.  I  have  nothing  to  do 
^ith  my  money  except  buy  those  irritating  War  Bonds. 
Every  penny  I  possess  is  yours,  Claire,  if  you  want  it." 

And  she  said  that  directly  she  was  well  enough  to  go 
>ut  of  doors  she  would  take  Claire  to  some  real  solicitors 
— not  namby-pamby  idiots  like  those  bow-wow  Collies,  but 
^ood,  sharp-fanged  dogs,  who  would  get  at  Master  Roddy's 
•leels  and  never  leave  him  till  they  had  brought  him  down. 

"  Only  one  short  little  life,  Claire ;  so  why  should  any- 
oody  be  martyrized  in  it.?     And  you,  of  all  people,  you 


254  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

poor  defenceless  child.  Oh,  Claire,  if  you  knew  how  it 
has  made  my  blood  boil,  and  how  I  have  writhed  when 
forced  to  speak  to  him  civilly." 

Then  Miss  Graham,  raising  herself  still  higher  on  the 
pillows,  fairly  expressed  her  contempt  of  the  existing  sys- 
tem of  marriage  and  divorce,  and  Claire  seemed  to  be  lis- 
tening to  the  companion  tirade  of  Evan  Giles'  outburst. 
Only,  delivered  with  dry  eyes  and  in  an  old  lady's  gently 
thrilling  voice,  it  seemed  so  much  stronger. 

"  Why  should  we  submit  to  such  antiquated,  preposter- 
ous edicts.''  Who  laid  them  on  us,  Claire.?  Why,  a  lot  of 
nasty  disgusting  old  priests,  who  kept  concubines  hun- 
dreds of  years  ago.  What  did  they  know  of  common 
sense  or  decent  feeling,  and  who  can  be  surprised  if  the 
whole  law  is  worthy  of  Bedlam?  And  worse  than  the  law 
itself  are  the  muddled  ideas  that  people  entertain  in  re- 
lation to  marriage.  Never  give  in  to  them,  Claire.  They're 
so  preposterously  absurd,  Claire,  that  they  could  only 
^xist  in  such  an  addle-pated  country  as  England." 

And  she  spoke  of  what  unfortunate  wives  suffer  from 
cruel  husbands;  how  their  minds  are  ruined,  and  their 
bodies  destroyed  without  redress.  She  spoke  of  their 
nerve  strain,  their  depression  of  spirit,  their  slowly  ac- 
cumulating despair.  It  was  most  wonderful  to  hear^ — 
this  old  maiden  lady,  who  was  herself  quite  outside  the 
circle  of  pain,  saying  more  than  Evan  Giles.  Nothing  of 
ihe  innermost  mysteries  of  marriage  was  unknown  to 
her. 

Faithful  to  her  promises.  Miss  Graham  took  Claire  to 
see  a  solicitor  whose  business  was  largely  concerned  with 
matrimonial  disputes ;  but,  sharp  and  keen  as  this  gentle- 
man appeared  to  be,  he  was  really  no  more  helpful  than 
Mr.  Collie.  He  saw  no  immediate  prospect  of  success. 
He  thought  it  was  a  case  in  which  a  waiting  game  would 
pay  best.  If,  as  seemed  probable,  Captain  Vaughan  went 
from  bad  to  worse,  he  might  eventually  become  very  bad 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  255 

ini  ed;  and  then  things  would  be  quite  easy.  A  divorce 
wc    Id  be  the  most  satisfactory  conclusion. 

-  nd  this  was  the  advice  of  a  high  expert.  Miss  Graham 
lef  I  his  office  trembling  with  anger.  Claire  was  to  go  back 
to  ler  slavery,  with  no  better  hope  than  a  tardy  freedom 
to  >e  won  by  further  pain.  She  had  tried  all  her  friends 
an  allies;  and  it  seemed  that  only  Time  itself  was  able 
to   lelp  her. 

She  thought  of  the  law,  of  what  Aunt  Agnes  had  said 
ab  (  ut  it — a  law  for  married  people  made  hundreds  of 
ye  c  rs  ago  by  celibate  priests  of  an  alien  religion ;  of  what 
E  an  Giles  had  said  about  it — a  cursed  law.  And  she  re- 
m<  nbered  those  earlier  words  of  his,  years  and  years  ago, 
wli^n  they  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  embrasure  of  a  win-^ 
dcr  before  her  marriage. 

''  There's  no  way  out  of  it,  Claire — no  way  that  you 
wo  aid  ever  find." 

Then  as  if  fate  and  chance  were  mocking  at  her  pre- 
dicament, and  diverting  themselves  by  the  addition  of 
more  elements  to  increase  the  confused  tangle  of  her 
thoughts,  they  sent  her  old  Uncle  Derek  one  afternoon,, 
so  that  he  might  tell  her  later  chapters  in  the  story  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Granville  Budleigh. 

The  gallant  old  fellow  was  dressed  in  his  uniform  as  a 
sj)ecial  constable  and  he  moved  rather  stiffly  from  rheuma- 
tism contracted  on  night  duty,  but  he  bore  himself  bravely 
a  >  the  kind  soul  he  was — ready  at  all  times  to  give  his^ 
services  to  the  call  of  duty,  whether  from  friends  or 
ountry.  He  betrayed  a  momentary  surprise  or  pertur- 
b  ition  at  sight  of  Claire's  war  serving-maid  and  the  velvet 
a  ad  pictures  in  her  drawing-room;  but  as  a  well-bred- 
nan  of  the  world  he  quickly  suppressed  all  signs  of  the 
s!iock  caused  by  poor  Claire's  queer  surroundings,  and  sat 
down  very  comfortably  to  tell  his  tale. 

"  In  all  my  experience,  Claire,  it  really  is  the  most 
extraordinary  business.     It  seems  as  if  one  could  never 


256      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

get  to  the  end  of  it.  However,  it  must  end  now,  and  I 
want  to  ask  you  to  assist  us  with  your  influence,  if  you 
possibly  can.  You  know,  you  ha've  influence.  She  spoke 
of  you  only  the  other  day.  Your  opinion,  if  firmly  ex- 
pressed, will  carry  weight." 

With  this  prelude,  Derek  began  the  story  of  latest  de- 
velopments. It  seemed  that  after  their  family  had  decided 
pn  the  separation  the  Granvilles  had  shown  an  unex- 
pected reluctance  to  separate.  They  made  all  sorts  of 
absurd  excuses  for  delay;  disregarding  expostulations, 
even  menaces,  they  continued  to  reside  together,  quar- 
relling and  being  talked  about  just  as  much  as  ever.  Then, 
the  patience  of  their  family  wearing  out,  it  wa«  determined 
to  bring  them  both  to  reason  by  the  withdrawal  of  mon- 
etary supplies  from  Granville. 

*'  And  now,  my  dear  Claire,"  said  Derek,  opening  his 
kind  old  eyes  widely,  "  this  astounding  fact  has  come  to 
light.  They  are  not  married  at  all.  Would  you  believe 
such  a  thing?  Never  married!  Of  course,  you  know,  she 
held  the  wildest  and  most  advanced  views  about  women's 
rights  and  everything  else;  so  the  blame  may  be  hers. 
But  Lady  Paramont,  who  is  absolutely  furious,  thinks  it 
is  Granville's  fault.  He  gives  the  lamest  possible  expla- 
nation— some  childish  nonsense  about  their  trying  to  get 
married  twice,  but  each  time  a  technical  mistake  of  theirs 
preventing  the  registrar  from  doing  it.  And  after  that 
he  says  they  were  afraid  to  go  on  with  it.  Anyhow,  there 
is  no  doubt  of  the  fact  itself.  It  is  unfortunately  but 
too  true." 

And  Uncle  Derek  touched  on  the  natural  wrath  of 
Lady  Paramont  and  the  other  matrons  of  the  family. 
Here  you  had  two  young  people  masquerading  as  husband 
and  wife  for  years,  moving  freely  in  the  best  society, 
staying  in  the  bosom  of  the  most  exclusive  but  quite  un- 
suspecting country  houses.  Even  nowadays,  with  the 
universe  more  than  upside  down,  that  really  was  beyond 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  257 

a  >ke.  "Sol  am  sure  that  you,  Claire,  will  agree  with 
L^  J  Paramont — as  I  do  myself  most  fully — that  it  must 
be    nded  now  and  at  once." 

But,  Uncle  Derek,  what  does  Lady  Paramont  pro- 

pc    3?'' 

Why,  of  course,  to  get  them  married  without  an  hour's 
av  idable  delay ;  "  and  the  kind  old  man's  eyes  became 
ro  nd  and  large  again.  "  What  else  can  be  done  but  reg- 
ul  I  rize  their  position  as  speedily  as  possible — and  as 
qi  i  3tly,  of  course  ?  Anyhow,  it  has  got  to  be  done,  and 
ort  can  only  hope  it  will  escape  notice  in  the  general 
tuimoil,  and  that  there'll  be  no  talk.  But,  Claire,  would 
ycu^ believe  it?  they  are  both  showing- reluctance.  Now 
if  you  could  influence  her  ..." 

When  Uncle  Derek  had  gone,  Claire  sat  thinking  about 
it  confusedly. 

This,  then,  was  the  reading  of  Mrs.  Budleigh's  sphinx- 
like  riddle.'  One  could  understand  now  her  enigmatic 
sriiles,  her  defiant  attitude,  her  refusal  to  submit  to  a 
husband's  control;  and  it  seemed  to  Claire  that  Mrs.  Bud- 
le  gh  had  more  than  hinted  at  the  truth,  had  even  been 
once  or  twice  on  the  point  of  telling  it  to  her.  She  had 
ssid  things — "  Mrs.  Vaughan,  I  wish  you  would  persuade 
our  relations  to  leave  us  alone.  Jack  and  I  understand 
e^.ch  other  perfectly  well  " — and  then  she  had  checked 
herself,  with  a  smile. 

Most  wonderful.  They  were  absolutely  free,  not  bound 
t('  each  other  in  any  way,  and  yet  they  hung  together. 
Ihey  quarrelled  and  made  it  up.  They  parted  and  soon 
n joined.  They  were  like  cat  and  dog,  and  yet  they 
c  )uld  not  do  without  each  other.  One  could  only  explain 
by  supposing  that  there  was  no  real  incompatibility  of 
temper.  The  squabbles  were  on  the  surface,  but  below 
t  le  eddying  noise  there  must  be  some  deep,  calm  current 
o "  true  affection ;  at  least,  even  if  they  did  not  love,  each 
n  ysteriously  had  need  of  the  other.     And  Claire,  though 


258  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

perplexed,  thought  she  could  understand.  Granville  for- 
gave because  there  was  no  real  wrong.  Mrs.  Granville 
flirted  and  flaunted,  danced  gaily  through  the  conventions ; 
only  she  was  not  unvirtuous.  Some  rule  made  by  herself 
prevented  her  from  going  too  far.  She  was  essentially 
nearly  all  that  a  wife  need  be.  But  she  clung  to  her  free- 
dom because  she  refusd  to  be  a  slave. 

But  their  family  ?  Who  could  understand  them?  They 
were  worse  than  the  Gilmours.  When  they  believed  that 
the  Budleighs  were  married,  they  insisted  on  dissolving 
the  union.  When  they  knew  that  the  Budleighs  were  with- 
out bonds  they  insisted  on  flrmly  uniting  them.  Was  that 
rational?  Was  it  not  like  the  behaviour  of  people  whose 
proper  place  Is  Bedlam.'^ 

And  Claire  thought  of  more  words  of  Aunt  Agnes. 
Worse  than  the  law  itself  are  the  muddled  ideas  that 
people  entertain  in  relation  to  marriage;  so  fantastically 
absurd  that  they  could  only  be  tolerated  in  such  an  addle- 
pated  country  as  England. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

F  possible,  the  darkening  of  London  grew  deeper  in 
this  fourth  winter  of  the  war.  The  black  nights, 
made  more  hideous  still  by  the  roar  of  our  own  guns 
ad  the  crash  of  the  enemy's  bombs,  seemed  to  be  sym- 
bolic of  the  whole  world  going  to  pieces.  One  felt  reckless, 
a  d  yet  afraid.  The  fate  of  mankind  was  at  stake ;  civi- 
li'ation  was  going  out  in  darkness;  it  was  a  time  when 
a     must  watch  and  pray. 

But  in  the  midst  of  the  world-tragedy  Claire  had  no 
Insure  for  any  thought  beyond  her  own  trivial  sordid  woes. 

They  had  left  the  house  with  the  velvet  sofas  and  were 
occupying  a  small  flat  on  the  top  floor  of  a  building  in 
t  le  Marylebone  Road.  Its  perilous  position  had  enabled 
Roddy  to  secure  it  almost  rent-free,  and  as  he  so  often 
slept  away  from  home  he  did  not  mind  the  risk.  Claire 
^  as  his  servant  now,  because  no  real  servant  would  con- 
sent to  stay  with  them,  A  charwoman  came  by  daylight 
to  help  her  with  the  rougher  work. 

And  here  in  this  narrowed  space,  in  rooms  not  much 
bigger  than  large  cupboards,  a  new  struggle  had  begun. 
It  was  money  now.  All  else  seemed  comparatively  insig- 
rificant  in  importance.  In  the  past  she  had  been  careless. 
Tailing  to  buy  his  complaisance  at  any  cost,  not  really 
iDoking  far  ahead,  although  she  had  spoken  sometimes  of 
f .n  ominously  threatening  future.  But  now  her  alarm  had 
i  uddenly  awakened  to  the  nearness  of  the  danger.  Roddy 
>7ould  take  their  all,  and  then  leave  her  and  Gladys  naked 
1o  face  a  shattered  world. 

Mr.  Collie,  useless  in  other  respects,  had  aroused  her 

o  a  clear  understanding  of  their  position.     Summoning 

^  ill  her  strength  to  meet  the  storm,  Claire  told  Roddy  that 

259 


260  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

he  must  stay  his  hand  now;  she  would  not  ever  again 
consent  to  his  touching  their  capital. 

The  storm  came,  but  she  did  not  break  beneath  its 
force,  and  Roddy,  when  his  first  wrath  had  blown  itself 
out,  affected  calmness.  He  adopted  sometimes  a  tone  of 
kindly  banter,  mingled  cajolery  with  argument.  "  Poor 
little  woman,  afraid  that  the  kid  will  run  short  of  grub 
one  day  ?  But  that's  all  bosh.  And  remember — what  I've 
told  you  once  before — Gladys  is  my  daughter  as  well  as 
yours."  By  this  echo  of  an  old  threat  he  twice  overcame 
her  resistance;  squeezing  from  her  another  thousand 
pounds,  and  still  another. 

The  cruel  fight  went  on.  But  Claire  was  fighting  for 
her  child's  sake.  She  could  be  very  brave  for  Gladys. 
As  she  thought  of  Gladys  there  lay  upon  her  always  the 
shadow  of  a  great  fear.  It  was  a  shadow  only,  because 
she  dared  not  admit  or  even  think  of  the  fear  itself,  but 
its  cold  dead  weight  was  vast  enough  to  make  all  other 
fears  seem  light. 

She  went  again  to  Mr.  Collie,  and  he  told  her  that  it  was 
her  own  money  and  she  could  do  what  she  liked  with  it. 
He  advised  her  to  pull  up  Captain  Vaughan  quite  short, 
by  cancelling  that  old  arrangemeiit  at  the  bank,  by  with- 
drawing the  authority  for  him  to  sign  cheques,  by  tearing 
up  any  papers  that  he  tried  to  make  her  sign  herself. 

And  these  things  Claire  was  brave  enough  to  do,  bowing 
to  the  tempest  that  they  raised,  but  never  breaking.  She 
was  fighting  for  a  loved  life,  and  she  told  Roddy  he  might 
kill  her,  but  he  should  not  make  her  yield.  She  said  that 
she  would  cash  a  cheque  every  week,  give  him  half  its 
amount  and  with  the  other  half  pay  for  their 
household. 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  He  laughed  and  blustered.  "  No  two  ways 
about  it — dotty  on  the  crumpet.  So  that's  the  idea  now, 
what?  I  am  to  pose  as  a  pensioner  on  my  lady's  bounty. 
Not  much.    By "  and  he  fired  his  best  volley  of  oaths. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  261 

**  1  ke  care,  my  girl.  Don't  drive  me  too  far.  Look  here. 
Yo  11  just  shove  on  your  hat  and  come  down  with  me 
to  i  le  bank  and  put  things  straight  again.  And  after 
thai  you'll  go  on  by  yourself  to  these  damned  lawyers 
of  \  3urs  and  instruct  them  to  send  me  a  written  apology 
for    he  insult  they've  put  upon  me.    Do  you  hear  ?  " 

C  laire  heard,  but  she  would  not  obey ;  and  the  abomina- 
ble   ight  went  on. 

1:  e  bullied,  bellowed,  and  she  bore  it  all.  She  still  stood 
firii.  Sometimes  she  thought  he  was  about  to  strike  her, 
ami  she  never  crouched  but  stood  with  unaverted  eyes, 
wailing  for  the  blow.  Sometimes,  when  he  was  living  at 
the  flat,  they  scarcely  spoke  to  each  other  for  days.  In 
frc\7ning  silence  he  ate  the  food  that  she  had  cooked  for 
hirji,  with  a  grunt  took  a  glass  from  her  hand  as  she 
wa/:ed  on  him,  or  pointed  at  the  mantleshelf  when  he 
war.ted  the  matches  to  light  his  pipe.  And  he  would  sit 
smoking  and  brooding  at  the  table  till,  with  the  pipe  still 
in  liis  mouth,  he  nodded,  drooped,  and  fell  asleep.  She 
sal  quietly  with  Gladj^s;  came  back  into  the  room  from 
time  to  time  to  see  if  he  had  awakened  and  she  might 
clear  away  the  refuse  of  his  meal. 

Sooner  or  later,  after  these  fits  of  silence,  he  would 
bu  'st  out  with  a  roar  of  anger  and  renew  the  fight. 

''  No,  by  God,  I'm  not  going  to  stand  it.  This  fooling 
mv.st  cease."  He  had  awakened,  or  sprung  up  from  the 
armchair  in  which  he  had  been  lolling  and  dozing.  "  Claire, 
coine  here.     Where  the  devil  are  you.'^  " 

•*  It's  all  right,  Roddy.     I  am  coming  to  you." 

And  he  would  take  her  by  the  arm  so  roughly  that  his 
gr  Lp  made  a  bruise,  bringing  his  face  close  to  hers,  and 
be  ^nning  to  shout  and  threaten.  If  there  had  been  other 
inhabitants  of  this  top  floor  they  would  have  complained 
of  the  repeated  disturbance..  This  man's  loud  voice  pen- 
et  'ated  the  flimsy  partitions,  the  woman's  voice  could  be 
he3ird  at  intervals,  and  that  child  of  theirs  was  uttering 


262  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

cries  of  agonized  terror  in  another  of  the  rooms.     The 
desperate  fight  was  going  on. 

Then  all  at  once  Claire  noticed  a  great  difference  in  his 
treatment  of  her.  One  morning  he  helped  her  carry  the 
breakfast  tray.  He  talked  to  her  freely  of  indifferent 
things,  went  in  and  tried  to  ingratiate  himself  with  Gladys 
by  giving  imitations  of  all  the  animals  in  a  farmyard. 
He  offered  carelessly  but  pleasantly  to  take  Claire  out  to 
dinner.  "  Oh,  all  right,  please  yourself.  I  only  thought 
it  might  save  you  trouble."  And  for  all  that  day  and 
the  next  he  was  like  an  old  acquaintance  who  has  been 
absent  for  a  long  time  and  who  now  seeks  to  pick  up 
all  the  severed  threads  of  friendship.  But  for  the  doubt 
and  discomfort  that  it  aroused  in  her,  this  new  manner 
would  have  been  ludicrous. 

"Have  you  had  time  to  glance  at  the  paper,  Claire? 
Not  much  news  in  it,  and  what  there  is  none  too  cheerful. 
By  Jove,  it's  a  hard  job  to  keep  up  one's  spirits  nowadays. 
One  wants  something  to  take  one  out  of  oneself."  And 
he  snapped  his  coarse  fingers  and  whistled.  "  Happy 
thought!  Claire,  I'll  take  you  to  a  cinema  show — take 
the  kid,  too,  if  you  like.  Nothing  like  the  moving  pictures 
to  cheer  you  up  when  you  feel  down  on  your  luck," 

Claire  refused  this  treat ;  she  had  work  to  do.  But  he 
told  her  he  thought  she  was  wrong  to  neglect  a  cheap  and 
gratifying  amusement  that  lay  so  easily  accessible.  He 
returned  again  and  again  to  this  subject  of  cinema  thea- 
tres, telling  her  what  a  big  place  they  would  soon  take 
in  our  national  life,  and  how  enormous  were  the  fortunes 
made  by  them. 

Gradually  then,  he  let  her  understand  that  he  had 
lately  fallen  in  with  some  very  influential  men  belonging 
to  this  wonderful  industry,  that  they  had  "  taken  to  him," 
that  they  seemed  disposed  to  give  him  a  chance  of  joining 
them  in  fresh  projects.    He  affected  to  take  it  for  granted 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  263 

the  she  would  be  cheered  by  his  tidings,  and  he  reported 
to  !  ar  from  time  to  time  how  matters  stood. 

*  They  pledge  themselves  to  nothing,  Claire,  so  far; 
bui   they  show  no  sign  of  wanting  to  turn  me  down." 

.  ^  f ter  being  out  he  would  return  to  the  flat,  rub  his 
harls,  and  beam  at  her. 

'  Claire,  old  girl,  I've  had  another  long  interview  with 
Poi  inger — you  know — the  boss  of  the  whole  shoot — and 
I  n  ist  say  it  was  of  a  very  promising  character.  Yes,  I 
do  :hink  things  begin  to  look  more  hopeful  for  down- 
tro  den  old  Roddy." 

tihe  knew  now,  of  course,  what  was  coming,  and  she 
kn(  V  instinctively  that  it  would  bring  a  fight  more  bitter 
and  more  cruel  than  any  she  had  yet  passed  through. 
Shi  tried  to  steel  herself  for  the  ordeal.  But  his  delay 
in  cpening  his  attack  enervated  her.  She  was  conscious 
of  8,  pressure  that  never  ceased,  that  was  always  increas- 
ing, and  still  he  had  said  nothing  of  the  money  he  intended 
to  wring  from  her.  In  spite  of  herself  he  forced  her  to 
talk:  of  his  hopes,  to  give  him  the  semblance  of  sympathy; 
and  he  tacitly  implied  always  that  she  was  to  be  relied 
on  as  an  ally  and  well-wisher. 

' '  Glorious  if  it  comes  off,  won't  it  be,  Claire  ?  " 

\nd  he  had  not  even  vaguely  indicated  yet  what  "  it  '* 
was. 

Then  all  at  once,  he  announced  in  the  most  natural 
ma  nner,  that  to  this  extent  at  least  "  it  "  had  come  off. 
Pottinger  was  ready  to  take  him  into  the  new  stunt  as 
ha  f-partner.  For  the  partnership  Roddy  would  have  to 
put  down  five  thousand  pounds:  in  other  words,  nearly 
half  of  their  remaining  capital. 

'^  So  there  you  are,  Claire.  It's  to  take  or  leave.  Stop. 
D(  n't  say  anything  now.  I  haven't  time.  I  must  change 
m    things.    I  am  going  back  to  them." 

A.nd  he  did  what  he  had  not  done  for  a  long  time;  he 
dr  3ssed  for  dinner.    When  he  came  back  into  the  sitting- 


264»  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

room  presently  in  his  broad  shirt  front  and  rather  dirty 
white  waistcoat,  she  saw  that  his  eyes  were  bright  with 
excitement,  and  that  he  had  shaken  off  something  of  the 
lazy  heaviness  of  carriage  that  for  so  long  had  been 
habitual.  The  vision  of  wide  gains  was  bringing  him  to 
life  again.  He  stretched  himself  and  stood  quite  erect, 
while  she  helped  him  on  with  his  overcoat. 

"  Thanks.  Now  are  you  going  to  live  up  to  your  repu- 
tation and  show  your  pluck?  It's  now  or  never,  Claire. 
I  feel  this  is  my  last  chance,  and  it's  not  coming  again." 

"  Roddy,  I  can't  do  it.  Surely  you  must  see  that  I 
can't  do  it." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean.  You're  worrying  about  the 
kid,  and  what  might  happen  to  her  if  it  went  down.  But 
it  isn't  going  down.  It's  going  to  turn  up  trumps.  Think 
what  that  would  mean  to  her.  Why,  our  Gladys  might 
be  the  biggest  heiress  in  England.  No  rot — I  mean  it. 
This  film  racket  is  fairyland.  It's  colossal ;  it  staggers 
the  imagination.  Pottinger  will  tell  you  so.  He's  coming 
to  see  you  to-morrow,  to  try  to  interest  you  in  it.  I've 
told  him  I  can't  force  you — and  don't  intend  to."  He 
was  talking  volubly,  eagerly,  almost  as  he  used  to  do 
before  the  war.  "  If  you  say  No,  it's  a  wash-out.  But 
don't  say  No  till  you've  made  up  your  mind.  Think  it 
over  quietly.  Ta-ta.  I'm  late."  And  he  hurreid  out  of 
the  tiny  hall  and  down  the  steep  flight  of  stone  stairs. 

Mr.  Pottinger  came  panting  up  them  on  the  following 
afternoon,  to  increase  the  pressure. 

He  was  middle-aged  and  very  large,  with  a  fat,  freckled 
face  that  creased  itself  into  ugly  smiles.  The  rims  of  his 
pale  blue  eyes  seemed  to  be  permanently  inflamed,  and 
they  had  no  eyelashes.  His  sandy  hair  grew  long  round 
the  bald  crown  of  his  head,  and  there  was  a  reddish  fluff 
of  it  on  the  backs  of  his  hands  and  reaching  to  the  knuckle 
joints  of  his  stubby  fingers.  These  hairy  hands  drew  a 
fascinated   attention  as  he  trifled  with   a  massive  gold 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  265 

wat  i-chain.  In  speech  he  was  slow  and  yet  ghb,  mouthing 
the  i  ig  words  in  an  un-English  fashion.  Claire  surmised 
tha  he  was  a  citizen  of  the  world  rather  than  belonging 
to  .  ly  iSxed  nationahty.  Also,  something  in  his  way  of 
tall  ig  of  pretty  film  actresses  and  his  manner  of  look- 
ing it  her  herself  stirred  subtle  feminine  instincts  and 
mac  her  guess,  too,  while  trying  to  stifle  the  thought, 
thai  he  was  a  man  who  at  one  period  of  his  life  had  been 
crut  to  women,  and  perhaps  even  grown  fat  upon  the 
pro*  ?eds  of  their  shame.  She  dreaded  him,  and  hated 
him  while  she  sat  listening  with  her  daughter's  small, 
tren  Jing  hand  in  hers. 

A\  inordinate  length  he  told  her  all  about  his  schemes. 

"  ]^ow  your  husband,  Mrs.  Vaughan,  would  be  my  rep- 
rese  tative  on  the  other  side.  There  has  been  a  tendency 
because  of  its  novelty  to  allow  this  industry  to  drop  into 
the  hands  of  vulgar,  illiterate  people;  and  prejudice  has 
beer;  the  result.  We  need  cultivated,  high-bred  gentlemen 
of  t  le  calibre  of  your  husband  to  combat  that  prejudice.'^ 
And  s,     -  . 

The  ^  essure  continued.  In  the  evening  they  forced 
Claire  to  go  to  dinner  with  them  at  a  small  Italian  res- 
tau)  ant  in  the  Euston  Road ;  and  here,  in  an  evil-smelling 
bad:  room,  with  so  low  a  ceiling  that  Mr.  Pottinger  was 
able  to  reach  it  with  his  heavy  hand  and  sweep  from  its 
cracked  paper  groups  of  hibernating  flies,  Roddy  and  his 
new  friends  ate  greasy  Italian  stews  and  drank  Chianti 
wim  of  the  fierce,  common  sort  that  makes  already  fiery 
pea.^ants  stab  each  other  in  the  warm  darkness  of  olive 
groves  and  vineyards  on  summer  nights.  Seated  among 
thei  1,  Claire,  pale  and  watchful,  looked  like  a  person  who 
has  been  cornered  by  a  confidence-trick  gang,  who  rec- 
ognizes them  all  as  accomplices,  but  who  tries  to  conceal 
any  signs  of  apprehension  and  vainly  searches  for  a  speedy 
mea  is  of  escape. 

1  here  was  another  middle-aged  man,  who  echoed  every- 


266      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

thing  that  Mr,  Pottinger  said,  and  corroborated  all  his 
statements  regarding  the  El  Dorado  of  the  "  movies.'* 
There  were  two  women ;  one  mature  and  haggard,  described 
indifferently  as  Mr.  Pottinger's  secretary  and  housekeeper; 
the  other  quite  young  and  very  small,  spoken  of  by  Mr. 
Pottinger  as  his  protegee.  He  also  said  that  this  girl 
was  a  bundle  of  talents,  that  he  proposed  to  make  her  a 
world-famous  film  star  before  he  had  finished  with  her, 
and  that  her  diminutive  stature  was  an  asset  of  considera- 
ble value.  "  A  woman,"  he  declared,  "  may  be  very  beau- 
tiful, with  perfect  features  and  a  voluptuous  figure;  but 
if  she  is  reaUy  large-built,  she  will  prove  a  deception  every 
time  you  throw  her  on  the  screen." 

The  coarse,  strong  wine  eventually  showed  its  effect  on 
aU  the  party.  Both  the  ladies  were  flushed,  and  they 
babbled  of  sovereigns  and  dollars ;  Roddy  tapped  the  table 
with  a  fork  and  gave  his  imitation  of  a  bam-door  fowl; 
for  a  little  while  the  thin  gentleman  was  troubled  by  hic- 
coughs and  could  only  corroborate  his  chieftain  with  an 
ugly  little  gulp.  Mr.  Pottinger  himself  preserved  his 
yellowish-white  complexion  unchanged,  and  his  slow  but 
fluent  utterance  unthickened.  Only  the  Chianti  made  him 
boastful. 

He  said  that  he  meant  getting  there  all  the  time.  If 
people  stood  in  his  light  he  brushed  them  out  of  the  way, 
just  as  he  had  served  those  flies  on  the  ceiling.  Then  he 
talked  of  the  relations  of  the  two  sexes,  saying  that  for  a 
thousand  reasons  women  could  never  boss  the  partnership. 
Nature  had  given  her  her  place,  and  she  must  keep  in  it. 

The  mean  little  room  had  an  atrocious  atmosphere  by 
now,  laden  with  the  odours  of  the  greasy  food,  the  fumes 
from  fla-ring  gas-jets,  and  full  of  tobacco  smoke;  and 
the  little  band  of  people  looked  sinister  and  dangerous, 
as  they  sat  there  surrounding  the  pale  and  silent  stranger 
that  they  had  somehow  lured  and  caught. 

Mr.  Pottinger  kept  his  lidless  eyes  fixed  on  Claire's 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  267 

face  waving  away  the  cloud  of  smoke  when  it  obscured 
his  ew  of  her,  and  he  talked  on  interminably  about  men 
and    romen. 

I  might  shock  certain  susceptibilities,  but  he  enter- 
tain 1  no  doubt  that  corporal  punishment  was  efficacious 
in  t  3  training  of  young  artistes.  And  a  great  truth  lay 
behiid  that.  Women  bowed  to  strength  and  determina- 
tion. They  liked  to  feel  that  the  man  they  loved  and 
resj  *  cted  could  make  himself  feared,  too.  What  did 
Wil  am  the  Conqueror  do  when  courting  Matilda?  He 
gav?  her  a  good  hiding,  and  she  liked  him  all  the  better 
for  t.  That  was  a  long  time  ago.  "  But  if  I  was  the 
husband    of    a   woman   who    opposed   her   will   to   mine, 

well What's    that    memo    you're    scribbling,    Mrs. 

Vau^jhan.?  " 

Claire  had  written  something  on  an  envelope  and  was 
trying  to  get  Roddy  to  read  it. 

''  Your  wife  is  making  signals  to  you,  Vaughan,"  said 
Mr.  Pottinger. 

"  Eh,  what.?  "    Then  Roddy  examined  Claire's  message: 

"  It  is  very  late.  I  must  go  back  to  the  flat.  I  am 
afraid  of  leaving  Gladys  alone  any  longer." 

^'  Oh,  all  right,"  and  he  rose  from  the  table,  with  a 
sur  y  air.  "  The  missus  wants  to  go  home,  and  think  it 
over." 

'  Really?"  said  Mr.  Pottinger.  "Surely  not?  Mrs. 
Vaughan  will  hardly  break  us  up  like  this,  with  nothing 
setMed."  His  manner  had  changed.  "  I  understood  this 
me  ting  was  to  fix  it  definitely.     Stay,  Mrs.  Vaughan." 

But  Claire  had  moved  round  the  table  quickly  and  was 
halfway  to  the  door.  "Stop  her,  Vaughan."  And  with 
Ro  idy  by  her  side  she  stood  at  the  opened  door.  "  Say 
no^  ^  Mrs.  Vaughan.  It  seems  to  me,  with  your  husband's 
ap  )roval,  I  best  wait  on  you  some  time  to-morrow,  and 


268  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

put  things  straight  before  you,  so's  there'll  be  no  further 
mistake." 

And  that  night  Roddy  was  violent  again.  He  said  they 
must  have  the  money. 

Next  day  he  went  out  before  the  arrival  of  Pottinger, 
and  said  he  would  return  again  after  the  interview.  It 
was  at  dusk  when  she  heard  the  visitor's  footstep  on  the 
^tone  stairs,  and  in  the  pause  before  he  rang  the  bell  she 
turned  on  all  the  electric  light  throughout  the  flat.  The 
thought  arose  that  on  this  deserted  upper  floor  there  was 
nobody  within  call.  She  received  him  alone  in  the  sitting- 
room,  with  Gladys  hidden  in  the  next  room,  and  as  she  led 
him  through  the  hall  her  heart  beat  fast.  A  sense  of 
defencelessness  came  full  upon  her  as  he  closed  the  door 
behind  them.  This  man  was  wicked,  dangerous,  and  per- 
haps desperate. 

But  he  began  very  quietly,  his  hands  playing  with  the 
gold  watch-chain,  his  face  creased  in  smiles. 

"  Now  Fd  like  to  say  to  you  at  once,  Mrs.  Vaughan, 
that  I  sympathize  with  you  in  your  embarrassment;  but 
I  am  placed  in  a  very  considerable  embarrassment  myself. 
If  I  could  help  you,  I  would  do  it.  But  the  question  is, 
haven't  things  gone  too  far?  Isn't  it  too  late,  any  way, 
for  you  to  back  out?  " 

"  I  am  not  backing  out,"  said  Claire.  She  had  meant 
to  speak  strongly  and  firmly,  but  her  voice  was  scarcely 
louder  than  a  whisper.    "  I  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

The  man  smiled  at  her. 

*'  I  assure  you  " — and  Claire's  voice  gathered  tone — "  I 
have  not  made  a  single  promise." 

He  raised  his  hand  as  if  begging  her  to  say  no  more. 

"  Mrs.  Vaughan,  accepting  for  a  moment  your  view  of 
the  situation — that  is,  that  you  and  your  husband  are 
acting  independently — just  see  my  embarrassment ;  "  and 
he  brought  out  a  bulging  pocket-book  and  held  it  on  his 
knee.     "  I  have  in  here  his  letters  representing  himself 


FOR.  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  26^ 

IS  a  man  of  capital,  whereas  I  am  now  to  understand  he 
s  a  man  of  straw.  But  /  have  acted  on  the  strength  of 
hose  letters.  Now  it  appears  it  is  you  who  are  in  truth 
:he  capitalist.  I  do  not  know  all  the  intricacies  of  your 
aws.  I  am  more  acquainted  with  the  code  on  the  other 
dde.  But  aren't  we  up  against  a  difficult  proposition, 
inyhow  ?  If  jou  withdraw,  how  does  Mr.  Vaughan  figure  ? 
Mrs.  Vaughan,  I  can  assure  you  I  have  gone  a  long  way 
ihead  on  the  promises  I  have  received.  Why,  see  now,  I 
3an  prove  that  to  you.  I  have  paid  passage  money  for 
Mr.  Vaughan  to  New  York.  I  have  surmounted  all  the 
passport  difficulties  and  got  his  papers  right  through.  No 
easy  matter.  He  will  sail  with  us  on  the  20th  instant — 
or  thereabouts.  Unless — unless  you  want  him  arrested 
'tween  now  and  then  for  obtaining  money  under  false 
pretences." 

"  I — I'll  pay  you  back  the  passage  money." 

He  waved  his  hand  and  smiled.  "  That's  a  very  small 
matter — mentioned  by  me  merely  as  proof  of  my  words. 
It's  not  the  hundredth  part  of  his  obligation." 

"  Then — then  I  can't  help  it.  He  must  take  the  conse- 
quences." 

"  Mrs.  Vaughan,  that  strikes  me  as  a  harsh  thing  to^ 
say.  Your  husband  would  judge  it  so,  if  I  repeated  it 
to  him.  But  I  shan't  do  that.  No,  no.  Mrs.  Vaughan, 
I  have  made  a  pretty  shrewd  guess  at  the  friction  between 
you  and  yoxxr  husband,  and  what  you  would  have  to  expect 
from  him  if " 

He  had  moved  from  his  chair  and  Claire  moved  too. 
Every  time  he  moved  she  changed  her  position,  so  as  to 
keep  the  same  distance  between  them.  He  brought  a  chair 
now  to  a  table  near  the  middle  of  the  room,  sat  down,  and 
while  he  talked  spread  out  some  bits  of  paper  on  the  table. 

"  I  have  with  me  here  bills  of  different  dates  for  the 
necessary  amounts.  Your  husband  concurs  that  this  will 
be  the  simplest  method,  as  it  gives  time  for  the  realization 


270  FOR  BETTER,  FOR-  WORSE 

of  your  securities.  Now  I  feel  pretty  sure,  Mrs.  Vaughan, 
that  before  I  quit,  you  are  going  to  sign  them." 

"  No,"  said  Claire  faintly.     "  I  won't  sign  them." 

"  If  I  leave  them  your  husband  will  make  you  sign 
them." 

"  If  you  leave  them  I  shall  burn  them." 

"  You're  a  brave  and  stiff-lipped  little  lady,  but  is  it 
wise  to  bring  trouble  on  yeurself .?  As  I  read  your  husband, 
he's  a  man  of  strong  feelings.  If  I  report  to  him  I've 
failed,  he's  likely,  as  I  judge,  to  make  things  very  very 
hard  for  you." 

"  That's  my  concern,  not  yours." 

"  Just  so.  But  see  now,  Mrs.  Vaughan,  he  has  pledged 
your  credit  and  he  means  you  to  make  good.  If  I  know 
human  nature,  you've  got  to  give  in.  True,  there's  no 
tremendous  hurry.  It's  ten  days  from  now  to  the  20th. 
You  may  have  a  lot  to  go  through  in  less  than  ten  days. 
.Why  not  give  in  now  and  save  yourself?  " 

"  I  have  given  you  your  answer." 

"  I  am  to  go  and  tell  him  you  refuse,  and  send  him 
back  to  you  at  that.?  " 

"  Yes,"  whispered  Claire. 

"  He'll  be  wild — mighty  wild."  The  man  was  putting 
the  bits  of  stamped  paper  back  in  his  wallet,  and  Clarie 
watched  his  slightest  movements.  "  Ten  days  to  change 
your  mind — to  have  to  change  your  mind,  eh?  Well,  if 
you  mean  it,  there's  not  much  more  to  be  said." 

"  There's  nothing  more  to  be  said."  Claire's  eyes  never 
left  his  face.    "  So,  so  you  can  go,  if  you  please,  now." 

He  moved,  with  hairy  hand  outstretched;  and  Claire 
retreating  round  the  small  room,  opened  the  door  in  pass- 
ing. When  he  stopped  moving  she  stood  still,  her  eyes 
on  his  face,  and  pointed  to  the  open  door. 

"  If  you  want  to  shake  hands,  it  is  unnecessary.  Go, 
if  you  please." 

And  to  her  inexpressible  relief  he  obeyed  her. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  271 

"  You  and  I  will  meet  again,  Mrs.  Vaughan."  He  said 
1  is  as  he  passed  through  the  doorway.  Directly  she 
]  2ard  the  closing  of  the  hall  door  she  rushed  to  it  and 
y  )lted  it.  Then  she  came  back,  all  white  and  shaking, 
I  ilf  hysterical,  and  went  to  Gladys  to  console  her  for 
i  3r  long  seclusion.  It  was  time  for  the  child  to  go  to  bed. 
(  laire  undressed  her,  sat  by  her  bed  and  read  aloud ;  tried 
t)  get  her  comfortably  asleep  in  this  space  of  time  while 
she  herself  was  waiting,  listening  for  the  return  of 
1  loddy. 

"  Roddy,  are  you  alone  ?  "  It  was  an  hour  later  and 
J  he  was  speaking  through  the  hall  door, 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  am.'* 

Then  she  unbolted  the  door  and  let  him  in.  He  came 
in,  kicked  the  door  to  with  his  foot,  and  uttered  a  curse 
is  she  followed  him  into  the  sitting-room. 

"  Roddy,"  she  said  wildly,  "  I  used  to  ask  you  not  to 
swear  at  me,  but  I  don't  mind  now.  I — I'd  rather  you 
bully  me  yourself,  than  send  other  men.  That  wasn't 
kind,  Roddy — not,  not  worthy.  He,  he  threatened  for 
you.     Why  don't  you  hit  me  yourself?  " 

He  had  gone  to  the  fireplace;  and  as  he  turned  upon 
her  she  took  his  hand  and  clung  to  him,  speaking  with 
hysterical  intensity, 

"  Roddy,  listen  to  me.  This  is  my  last  appeal.  Be 
merciful.  Give  me  my  freedom.  Listen — only  listen.  I 
am  very  unhappy — about  Gladys,  too,  as  well  as  myself. 
The  doctors  say  there's  something  wrong  with  her.  I 
don't  know — I  pray  not — if  I  think  of  it  I  feel  I'm  going 
mad.  I  don't  know  if  it's  my  fault  or  your  fault.  I 
thought  it  was  your  fault — but  I  won't  think  it  if  you'll 
let  me  go.  I  want  to  be  safe  with  her  where  I  can  take 
care  of  her.  Roddy,  have  mercy  on  us — your  poor  little 
child  and  me.     Have  mercy  and  let  us  go." 

He  looked  at  her  blankly.    Her  face  was  streaming  with 


272  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

tears,  her  features  were  twitching  in  a  paroxysm  of  prayer 
and  entreaty. 

"  Roddy,  dear,  be  kind — ^be  generous.  We  belong  to 
jou.  We're  so  utterly  in  your  power.  If  you'll  only 
think.  What  harm  have  I  ever  done  you.?  Why  should 
you  go  on  torturing  me?  You  don't  want  me  any  longer. 
You  have  your  other  women — you,  you  can't  want  me. 
Let  me  go.  I'll  think  kindly  of  you  again — forget  every- 
thing— ^when  you've  set  me  free.  Let  me  get  a  judicial 
separation — don't  oppose  it,  help  me  to  get  free.  A  deed 
is  no  use.  I  must  feel  safe — or  Roddy,  I  shall  go 
mad. 

"  I'll  give  you  the  money.  Half  of  all  that  is  left.  Not 
for  this  speculation.  But  I'll  settle  it  on  you — so  that 
you  may  always  have  something  and  I  shall  know  you 
can't  starve.  Collies  can  arrange  that ; — provided  we  are 
separated  by  law.  Then  I'll  be  able  to  work  and  earn 
money.  I  won't  be  afraid  of  having  to  work  for  Gladys. 
I — I  shall  have  no  more  fears — when  she  and  I  are 
alone. 

But  it  was  all  without  avail.  That  he  felt  contrition, 
perhaps  even  shame,  was  evident;  for  he  spoke  to  her 
quite  gently.  Yet  though  soft  of  voice  he  was  obdurate 
in  purpose. 

"  Don't  go  on  in  this  abject  way.  It  gets  on  my 
nerves ;  "  and  he  held  her  with  his  arm  round  her  waist. 
^'  To  see  you  crying  and  howling,  one  would  think — There, 
I  can't  reopen  all  that  talk  of  separation.  I  told  you  it's 
not  to  be  thought  of." 

He  went  into  the  bedroom,  and  presently  came  out  again 
in  his  shirt  sleeves. 

"  Now  the  kid's  crying.  Quiet  her  down,  and  bring  me 
out  my  coat.  Claire,  I'm  sorry  about  the  money."  He 
muttered  this,  as  if  to  himself.  "  On  my  honour,  I'm 
sorry,  but  I  don't  see  that  I  can  give  up  the  chance  now. 
If  it's  any  comfort  to  you,  you  are  taking  all  my  pleasure 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  273 

ut  of  it.  If  I  listened  to  you,  you'd  make  me  feel  like 
.  common  thief — and  just  when  I  was  getting  back  my 
lope  of  pulling  things  right  for  both  of  us." 

Then  soon  he  went  out  again,  saying  that  he  would  re- 
urn  early  to-night,  anyhow,  by  ten-thirty  at  latest. 

"  Get  yourself  some  grub,  Claire.  And  try  to  cheer 
ip.  Let  bygones  be  bygones.  It  absolutely  upset  me, 
vvhat  you  said  about  not  wanting  you.  Of  course  I'm  as 
fond  of  you  as  ever — only  I've  been  so  damnably  down 
on  my  luck.  You  must  make  excuses  if  I  give  you  the 
rough  side  of  my  tongue  sometimes." 

Claire  stood  listening  and  thinking.  It  was  about  eight 
o'clock  now;  she  had  at  least  two  hours  to  herself  before 
his  return. 

Next  minute  she  had  pulled  out  her  boxes,  was  opening 
wardrobe  drawers  and  throwing  garments  on  the  floor. 

"  It's  all  right,  Gladys,  darling.  Mummy  is  packing  up, 
and  Gladys  must  help  her  by  being  very  quiet  and  good. 
Soon  she  must  get  up  again  and  be  dressed.  Fun,  Gladys, 
isn't  it,  to  do  things  like  this  at  night?  " 

Her  luggage  was  reduced  to  manageable  size  nowadays, 
and  packing  was  a  much  easier  task  than  in  the  far-off 
times,  when  Pope  took  half  a  day  to  fill  those  huge  trunks 
that  used  to  stand  in  the  corridor  of  the  Piccadilly 
Hotel. 

In  an  hour  all  was  ready,  and  Gladys  fully  dressed  sat 
upon  one  of  the  boxes  and  promised  to  be  very  patient 
while  her  mother  ran  down  into  the  Marylebone  Road  to 
hunt  for  a  taxi-cab.  It  was  half  an  hour  before  Claire 
came  upon  an  empty  cab,  and  then  to  her  despair,  the 
offered  job  was  refused.  Then  after  another  ten  minutes 
a  policeman  outside  the  Great  Central  Railway  Station 
proved  a  friend  in  need,  and  a  little  before  ten  o'clock 
she  was  back  at  the  flat  and  helping  her  cabdriver  to  carry 
the  boxes  down  the  steep  stairs. 

In  feverish  haste  she  had  scribbled  a  note  for  Roddy 


274  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

and  put  it  in  a  conspicuous  position  on  the  mantelshelf 
between  the  matches  and  one  of  his  pipes. 

"  I  have  gone,  and  you  will  never  see  me  again.  Please 
apply  to  Messrs.  Collie  for  your  weekly  money.  I  shall 
not  tell  them  or  anyone  else  where  I  have  gone  to.  Good- 
bye. Claire." 

Thus,  for  the  second  time  in  her  life,  Claire  ran  away 
from  home. 

She  drove  first  to  her  old  lodgings  near  the  Edgware 
Road;  but  Mrs.  Morris  had  the  house  full  and  could  not 
take  them  in.  On  Mrs.  Morris's  recommendation  she 
went  to  a  Mrs.  Hume  at  Maida  Vale.  Mrs.  Hume  was 
sorry  not  to  be  able  to  oblige  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Morris, 
and  she  gave  Claire  two  likely  addresses  at  Camden  Town 
— "  good,  nice  rooms,  and  respectable  houses  both  of  them, 
very  particular.  Mention  my  name."  And  at  the  second 
of  these  addresses  Claire  found  a  shelter  and  a  resting- 
place.  Mrs.  Grove,  the  landlady,  accepted  the  introduc- 
tion of  Mrs.  Hume  in  spite  of  the  suspiciously  late  hour. 
**  I  am  very  particular,  I  am,"  she  said  confidentially,  as 
she  led  Claire  and  Gladys  upwards  to  her  top  story. 
"  Such  times  as  we're  living  through.  Young  man  and 
young  woman  scrape  acquaintance  at  a  theatre  and  come 
straight  to  me  to  take  lodgings,  without  so  much  as  a 
bandbox  for  luggage  between  them.  I  ask  you!  But 
you  have  your  luggage,  and  the  young  lady  is  another 
testimonial." 

Mrs.  Grove's  accommodation  was  all  that  Claire  desired 
< — a  small  front  sitting-room,  a  bedroom  opening  out  of 
it,  and  at  the  back  of  the  bedroom  a  large  alcove  with 
another  bed  in  it,  the  very  thing  for  Gladys. 

Soon  the  cabdriver,  unaided,  had  brought  up  the  last 
box;  and  having  done  so  he  sat  down  in  the  front  room 
and  grinned  at  Claire  affably. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  275 

"  Now  I^m  wondering  what  I'm  to  be  paid  for  this  stunt. 
]  'unny  little  game  I  bin  helpin'  you  to  play  to-night, 
I  aven't  I?  As  far  as  I  can  see,  I  shall  be  asked  a  nice 
1  )t  of  questions  about  it  before  I'm  done." 

Compared  with  the  typical  blackguards  who  drove  cabs 

;  t  this  late  period  of  the  war,  he  was  quite  a  pleasant 

^  ;ood-natured  fellow.    He  had  no  idea  of  turning  profiteer ; 

lie  only  wanted  to  take  advantage  of  the  ordinary  oppor- 

unities  afforded  by  his  profession. 

Claire  gave  him  a  one-pound  note  for  his  labours  and 
mother  in  exchange  for  a  promise  that  he  would  answer 
10  questions,  should  any  be  asked. 

Here  in  this  small  fastness  under  the  tiles,  in  an  obscure 
road  of  an  outlying  district,  Claire  lay  comfortably  hidden 
and  felt  almost  safe.  She  would  have  felt  safer  if  she 
had  been  able  to  conceal  her  name,  but  that  had  been  im- 
possible. Her  feUow  lodgers  knew  her  as  Mrs.  Vaughan, 
and  spoke  to  her,  some  of  them,  as  she  passed  them  on 
the  stairs  when  going  out  for  cautious  walks  with  Gladys ; 
but  they  were  not  the  sort  of  people  to  wonder  who  she 
was  or  waste  their  time  in  trying  to  discover  her  previous 
history. 

On  the  floor  below  there  was  an  officer  apparently  honey- 
mooning with  a  tall  girl,  who  had  very  yellow  hair  and 
very  high  heels.  They  possessed  a  gramophone  whose 
varied  music  throbbed  through  the  house  at  all  hours ;  and 
they  entertained  hospitably  of  an  evening,  collecting  other 
light-hearted  people  to  enjoy  the  gramophone,  play  cards, 
and  even  to  dance.  Below  this  couple,  there  were  two 
elderly  ladies  who  objected  to  the  honeymooners'  parties, 
and  a  big  sombre  man  who  did  not  mind.  He  was  a  worker 
at  a  neighbouring  Y.M.C.A.  hostel,  and  when  he  came 
back  to  his  room  he  was  so  tired  that  nothing  disturbed 
his  sleep. 

Claire  intended  to  stay  during  the  week  for  which  she 


276  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

had  taken  her  rooms  and  then  go  away  to  the  depths  of 
the  country  or  to  a  seaside  town.  She  could  not  decide 
^hich  would  be  safer. 

Quite  late  in  the  evening,  her  landlady  used  to  come  up 
uninvited  and  sit  with  her  for  a  little  while,  plaintively 
philosophizing.  She  was  a  kindly  soul,  and  the  notion  of 
Claire's  being  lonely  seemed  to  prey  upon  her  mind.  "  You 
don't  get  much  enjoyment  out  of  life,  not  for  your  age,'* 
she  said  reflectively.  "  But  then  you're  wrapped  up  in  your 
little  girl,  aren't  you.'^  Anxious  about  her,  too.  She  looks 
but  poorly." 

One  night  when  she  paid  her  visit  Claire  was  already 
going  to  bed.  But  she  tapped  softly  at  the  door  of  the 
bedroom  and  asked  permission  to  come  in  and  sit  there. 

"  Don't  take  any  notice  of  me.  Go  on  brushing  your 
hair,  and  let  me  talk.  I  didn't  like  not  to  see  you  after 
all  this  long  day.  Missie's  all  right  in  there — likes  her 
bed?  I  shan't  rouse  her.  I'm  never  a  loud  talker.  I'm 
not  intruding,  am  I?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Claire.  Indeed,  companionship  of  this 
strange  kind  was  now  not  unpleasant  to  her. 

"  What  pretty  hair  ^'^ou've  got — and  how  you  do  keep 
brushing  it.  Like  to  feel  it's  all  had  the  bristles  through 
it?  You  aren't  one  of  the  bird's-nest  sort.  It's  wigs 
mostly  nowadays,  or  on  the  frame — and  dye.  I  ask  you! 
I  could  see  you  were  a  lady  by  the  sound  of  your  voice  as 
soon  as  ever  you  spoke  to  me.  And  you've  been  through 
better  times  in  your  time,  I  know  that.  What  times  we're 
going  through  now.  I  don't  care  when  the  war  ends,  not 
me.  It's  all  artificial,  the  good  trade  and  the  high  prices. 
I'd  sooner  be  back  at  the  old  level.  Robbing  Peter  to 
pay  Paul — that's  about  what  it  is.  What  you  put  into 
one  pocket,  the  Government  takes  out  of  your  other  pockets 
And  the  taxes !     I  ask  you !  " 

Then  another  night  when  Claire  was  undressing,  she 
heard  footsteps  and  the  sound  of  a  match  being  struck  to 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  27T 

li  '•ht  the  gas.  Next  moment  came  soft  taps  on  the  door 
;  mels;  and  she  unlocked  and  opened  the  door  at  once, 
>  .ying,  "  Is  that  you,  Mrs.  Grove?     Come  in." 

But  it  was  not  Mrs.  Grove  to-night.     It  was  Roddy. 

He  had  traced  the  fugitives  with  the  greatest  ease,  and 
ii  t  his  leisure.  It  occurred  to  him  that  in  her  essential 
i  ^orance  of  London,  Claire  would  naturally  drift  towards 
t  be  only  places  where  she  had  lived  before,  and  his  first  call 
:  f  inquiry  was  at  the  lodgings  by  the  Edgware  Road. 

He  drew  her  towards  him  from  the  doorway,  and  looked 
iX  her  dully  and  heavily. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  argue  with  you  to-night,  Claire. 
.-  am  too  tired.  We'll  have  it  all  out  in  the  morning.  I 
vant  to  get  to  bed  now.  Stand  out  of  the  light  and  let 
:ne  take  in  this  kit-bag." 

"  Roddy,  you  must  go  away.     You  can't  sleep  here." 

"  Rot.  Where  else  am  I  to  sleep?  I  have  shut  up  the 
flat,  and  given  'em  the  key.    Don't  play  the  fool." 

"  In — any — case,  you  couldn't,  because  Gladys  is  in 
there — the  same  room — only  a  curtain  between.  It — it 
wouldn't  be  decent."  She  was  barring  the  way,  and  he 
tried  to  push  her  aside  while  she  talked  to  him  in  a  gasping 
whisper.  "But  apart  from  that,  it's  over — all  done  with 
between  you  and  me.  Nothing  on  earth  would  make  me 
begin,  again." 

Then  quietly,  with  not  the  least  unnecessary  violence, 
he  seized  her  bodily,  with  one  hand  on  her  bare  white 
neck,  and  the  other  behind  her  back,  gripping  a  naked 
arm;  and  she  fought  with  him,  physically  this  time,  as 
he  drove  her  backwards  to  the  open  door. 

"  No,  I  won't.  I  won't.  Let  me  go.  Don't  you  see 
that  I'd  rather  kill  myself?  Don't  you  feel  that  I  hate 
you  and  loathe  you — that  the  touch  of  your  hands  sickens 
me.     Roddy,  I'll  scream  out  if  you  don't  stop  !    Roddy !  " 

She  stretched  her  free  arm  towards  the  lintel  of 
the  door,  tried  to  cling  to  it  as  he  pushed  her  across 


278      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

the  threshold.     Then  suddenly  she  cried  aloud  for  help. 

"  Hush — damn  you.     Are  you  mad.?'  " 

He  put  his  hand  over  her  mouth,  but  she  wrenched  her 
head  away,  and  in  the  struggle  the  buttons  on  his  coat 
sleeve  cut  her  lip.  Then,  nonplussed  by  her  ferocity,  or 
hoping  to  keep  her  quiet  by  doing  so,  he  let  her  go.  And 
she  ran  out  to  the  landing  and  halfway  down  the  stairs, 
calling  for  help  again. 

The  first  people  up  the  stairs  were  the  young  soldier 
and  the  yellow-haired  girl  from  the  first  floor,  but  they 
were  quickly  followed  by  the  other  young  folk  that  com- 
posed their  evening  party.  The  two  elderly  ladies  came 
up  next;  and  last  of  all  the  landlady  with  the  Y.M.C.A. 
worker.  She  had  been  into  his  room  to  wake  him.  Claire 
retreated  before  them  into  the  sitting-room,  and  they  filled 
the  landing,  looking  into  the  room  as  if  it  had  been  a 
scene  on  the  stage. 

Indeed  it  was  a  curious  scene:  Claire  half  dressed,  her 
hair  all  tumbled  loose  seeming  black  against  her  white 
face,  the  red  trickle  of  blood  from  the  cut  lip  staining  the 
whiteness  of  chin  and  bosom;  Gladys  in  her  night-dress 
sobbing  with  arms  round  her  mother ;  and  Roddy  seated  on 
the  end  of  the  horse-hair  sofa  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
looking  moodily  at  the  unopened  kit-bag. 

"  Well,  what  the  devil  do  you  all  want?  ''  he  asked,  in 
a  dull  unemotional  tone.  "  Look  here,  my  wife  and  I  have 
had  a  bit  of  a  dispute,  but  it's  all  right.  Just  leave  us 
alone.'' 

"  This  man  is  my  husband,"  said  Claire ;  "  but  he  has 
no  right  here.  I  have  ordered  him  to  go — and,  and  he 
still  tries  to  stay." 

"  Yes,  and  he's  been  knocking  her  about,  too,"  said  the 
yellow-haired  girl.     ^*  That's  a  dirty  shame,  anyhow." 

"  She's  answered  him,"  said  another  girl,  "  and  he's 
given  her  a  back-hander  across  the  mouth.  Why  doesn't 
somebody  send  for  the  police  .'^  " 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  279 

"  Don't  you  ever  do  that,  certainly  not,"  said  the  land- 
i  tdy. 

"  If  he  was  an  officer,"  said  the  young  married  man,  "  I 
'  riould  know  what  to  do  with  him.  I  should  put  him  under 
;  rrest." 

"  I  am  an  officer,"  said  Roddy  wearily.  ^ 

"  I  don't  believe  you.  If  I  did  believe  you,  I  should  tell 
70M  to  consider  yourself  under  arrest." 

"  You  leave  him  alone,  Tony,  or  he'll  assault  you  next." 

And  as  usual  on  such  occasions  all  talked  at  the  same 
time. 

"  She  wants  him  outside,  she  says  so.  Let's  go  for  the 
blighter  and  pitch  him  out."  .  .  .  "  I  thought  this  was  a 
respectable  house.  Such  doings  and  noise  when  one  wants 
to  be  quiet  in  one's  bed."  ..."  That's  enough  of  it. 
You  can  all  go  to  the  devil."  ..."  Comes  in  and  tells  my 
girl  he's  expected,  pushes  by  her,  and  straight  up  the 
stairs  with  his  bag  in  his  hand,  and  makes  this  shindy. 
I  ask  you !  " 

Finally  the  big  sombre  man  from  the  Y.M.C.A.  hut  took 
control  of  the  situation,  and  persuaded  all  to  descend 
again  except  himself  and  the  landlady.  He  said  this  sort 
of  disturbance  was  in  his  line,  and  he  always  acted  on 
the  maxim  of  doing  the  best  in  the  circumstances. 

The  best  in  these  particular  circumstances,  both  to  his 
judgment  and  that  of  Mrs.  Grove,  was  to  accept  Roddy's 
word  of  honour  as  a  gentleman  not  to  interfere  any  more 
with  Claire  and  her  daughter,  to  see  them  both  safely 
locked  in  the  bedroom,  to  allow  Roddy  to  sleep  on  the 
sofa,  and,  as  a  last  touch  of  genuine  Y.M.C.A.  kindness, 
to  supply  two  blankets  from  downstairs. 

In  the  morning  Roddy  went  out  to  wash  at  a  public 
lavatory,  came  back  to  breakfast,  and  after  breakfast  he 
and  Claire  had  the  talk  that  he  had  spoken  of  last  night. 

"  You  might  have  waited,  Claire.  You  might  have  given 
me  a  chance.     I  am  going  to  relieve  you  of  my  presence 


280  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

for  six  months  anyhow.  I've  wanted  to  get  across  to  the 
States  for  ages,  and  I'm  going  now — ^whatever  happens. 
Claire,  don't  be  hard  on  me.  I'm  pretty  near  down  and 
out." 

And  he  spoke  of  the  offer  she  had  made  him  of  half 
her  remaining  capital.  He  said  it  was  a  sporting  offer, 
and  he  would  accept  it  if  she  would  abandon  the  settlement 
plan  and  let  him  have  it  in  cash.  If  she  consented  to  this, 
he  would  solemnly  undertake  never  to  molest  her  again — 
not  only  at  the  end  of  six  months,  but  never.  He  would 
go  out  of  her  life  absolutely  and  for  all  time. 

Claire  consented,  making  such  conditions  as  were  neces- 
sary. She  must  have  the  assurance  that  he  had  really 
left  England;  and  to  this  end,  no  money  would  be  given 
to  him  until  he  was  actually  on  the  ship  at  Liverpool, 
and  then  only  a  little.  The  bulk  of  the  money  would 
be  placed  to  his  credit  In  New  York,  and  he  would  have 
to  go  there  to  get  it.  He  was  to  telegraph  to  her  from 
the  ship  itself  at  the  moment  of  departure,  since  it  was 
unlikely  that  the  authorities  would  sanction  his  sending 
a  wireless  message  to  her  from  the  high  seas. 

"  Done !  You  don't  trust  me ;  but  I  mustn't  complain ;  " 
and  he  looked  at  her  sadly  and  doubtfully.  "  When  you 
were  so  riled  with  me  last  night,  you  said  things  that  I 
shouldn't  like  to  think  you  meant — about  the  touch  of 
my  hands  and  all  that.  You  didn't  really  mean  it, 
Claire?" 

"  Roddy,  how  do  I  know  what  I  said — or  what  you  made 
me  say?  " 

"  But  you  don't  take  it  back?  "  And  he  looked  at  her 
searchingly  and  wonderingly,  "  Does  it  mean  that  you've 
turned  against  me  so  utterly  as  all  that?  But  it's  very 
sudden,  isn't  it?  All  right.  We've  made  our  bargain. 
But  answer  this  one  question.  Does  it  mean  that  you  have 
found  somebody  else.?  .  .  .  Ah,  that's  brought  the  colour 
to  your  cheeks.     You  can't  answer  me,  what?  " 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  281 

"  A  last  insult,  Roddy.  But  what  does  it  matter?  Why 
s  lould  I  feel  either  indignation  or  surprise?  You  shall 
1  ive  your  answer.  No,  there  is  nobody  else,  and  there 
r  3ver  will  be/' 

Then  he  asked  her  to  kiss  him. 

"  No." 

"  Then  ta-ta.  Good  luck.''  And  he  shrugged  his  shoul- 
c  ers,  picked  up  his  bag,  and  went  down  the  stairs. 

A  few  days  later  she  received  the  telegram  for  which 
s  lie  had  stipulated.     "  Good-bye. — ^Roddy." 

He  had  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  cruel  time  was  over:  he  had  really  gone.  Claire, 
physically  and  mentally  exhausted,  took  her  little 
girl  far  away  from  the  vast  ugliness  of  London,  and 
they  stayed  for  long  peaceful  weeks  in  a  cottage  on  the 
shore  of  one  of  the  river  estuaries  of  South  Devon. 

Here  one  could  forget  the  war  and  all  other  violences 
in  looking  at  things  that  they  had  never  touched — white- 
headed  old  fishermen  mending  nets  on  the  cobble  stones  by 
the  little  pier,  the  curved  flight  of  seagulls  traced  against 
a  blue  sky,  the  broad  face  of  red  fields  that  grew  sad 
only  because  clouds  were  passing  and  smiled  all  day  when 
the  sky  was  clear.  Gladys  was  happy  and  well  in  this 
soft  bland  climate.  The  people  were  Devonshire  people, 
and  that  is  but  another  way  of  saying  that  they  were 
kind  and  good  people.  Claire  was  at  peace.  She  slept 
without  nightmare  dreams;  she  woke  without  any  dread 
of  the  dawning  day. 

She  felt  weary  and  weak ;  but  gradually  that  marvellous 
medicine,  the  tyrant's  absence,  gave  tone  to  her  nerves  and 
richness  to  her  blood.  Her  youth  was  asserting  itself. 
Her  appetite  returned,  her  footsteps  grew  lighter  and 
yet  firmer;  she  was  rapidly  getting  strong.  All  round 
them  the  signs  of  advancing  spring  gave  their  sweet 
messages  of  life  and  hope;  nature,  calmly  triumphant, 
was  unfolding  its  yearly  lesson.  There  is  no  death,  no 
destruction,  only  change.  Gladys  enjoyed  the  epoch- 
marking  adventures  of  childhood ;  saw  a  cow  milked,  heard 
the  blackbird's  pipe  and  the  woodpecker's  drill,  sought 
through  the  banks  of  deep-set  lanes,  with  unsnobbish 
ardour,  to  meet  her  first  Lords  and  Ladies.  When  she 
and  her  mother  laughed  there  was  no  fear  of  the  sound 

282 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  283 

c  lusing  offence.  Sometimes,  forgetful  of  the  proverb,  they 
s  ing  as  they  dressed  before  breakfast. 

Then  came  the  news  of  reverses  to  our  armies  in  France, 
1  ews  so  big  with  danger  to  the  great  cause  that  they 
>  aook  one,  no  matter  how  far  one  had  crept  from  the 
1  oisy  centre  of  things.  Claire  in  her  peaceful  retreat  was 
J  gitated  by  the  sombre  tidings  of  these  heavy  days ;  but 
Ihis,  too,  was  good  for  her,  breaking  the  dull  chain  of 
i  labit  which  binds  even  the  most  unselfish  people  and  com- 
l)els  them  to  think  only  of  themselves  when  for  a  long 
'  ime  they  have  borne  a  ceaseless  discomfort.  Claire  was 
if  ted  out  of  herself,  and  felt  again  the  wider  thought- 
:ension  of  the  world. 

But  the  fishermen  daubing  their  mended  nets,  said  that 
:hings  would  come  all  right  at  long  last ;  the  red  fields  were 
changing  to  green,  pierced  by  millions  of  tiny  spears; 
dark  clouds  came  biUowing  overhead ;  then  a  shaft  of  sim^- 
light  leaped  down  upon  the  water,  and  the  flashing  bow 
of  promise  lay  stretched  across  the  sky. 

Claire  came  back  to  London  in  the  early  summer;  and 
it  seemed  as  if  fate,  tired  of  tormenting  her,  was  now 
pleased  to  accept  her  as  its  most  favoured  child.  Every- 
body was  kind  to  her;  everything  went  well  with  her. 
Astounding  lucky  chances  helped  in  all  that  she  tried  to 
do.  For  instance,  when  she  went  to  see  if  she  could  get 
rooms  at  Mrs.  Morris's  house,  lodgers  unexpectedly 
called  away  had  just  vacated  the  very  rooms  that  suited 
in  cost  and  arrangement.  Mrs.  Morris  said  it  was  little 
short  of  a  miracle.  The  rooms  had  been  only  empty 
an  hour,  and  they  would  most  certainly  have  been  snapped 
up  before  nightfall. 

Claire  was  extremely  grateful  for  the  lucky  chance,  be- 
cause she  had  some  happy  memories  of  this  house  as  well 
as  sad  ones.  And  another  surprisingly  good  turn  of 
luck — a  larger  miracle!  You  could  now  get  real  hot 
water. 


284.  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  No  one  more  surprised  than  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Mor- 
ris. "  Without  a  word  of  warning  the  landlord  sends 
them  in  to  fix  a  new  range  and  a  fresh  system.  I  can 
only  suppose  he's  made  his.  fortune  by  now,  same  as 
everybody  else  except  me.'' 

Then  l?ope,  her  sometime  maid,  came  back  to  her.  Pope 
was  Mrs,  Dent  now,  a  wife  of  six  years'  standing,  with  a 
husband  fighting  in  the  war,  but  she  begged  Claire  still  to 
call  her  by  her  maiden  name.  She  had  lost  a  baby  son, 
and  she  wept  when  she  spoke  of  him,  but  out  of  her  dis- 
appointment and  grief  had  come  a  great  love  of  children, 
other  people's  children  if  she  might  not  have  any  of  her 
own,  and  she  proved  an  invaluable  friend  and  guardian 
to  Gladys,  Indeed,  she  was  altogether  a  softened  and  more 
yielding  Pope  than  the  resilient  tightly-laced  young 
woman  of  the  past;  she  expressed  an  affection  for  her 
late  mistress  which  she  had  always  felt  but  had  not  been 
always  able  to  show,  and  between  them  there  was  a  pre- 
liminary contest  of  generosity  and  good  feeling  before  the 
terms  of  the  new  engagement  were  settled.  Claire  wanted 
Pope,  but  could  not  afford  her;  and  Pope  insisted  on  giv- 
ing her  services  without  payment.  She  had  her  separation 
allowance,  and  with  bed  and  board  provided,  she  declared 
that  she  would  be  in  clover  until  her  man  came  home.  So 
insistent  was  she  that  scruples  were  overcome;  and  Claire, 
determined  to  make  it  up  to  Pope  somehow,  expressed  a 
very  real  gratitude  and  drew  a  great  comfort  from  the 
presence  of  this  faithful  servant,  the  sight  of  whose  familiar 
face  reminded  her  of  long-gone  days  and  made  her  feel 
younger  and  happier  every  time  she  met  its  smiles. 

The  smiles  were  always  there  after  Pope  had  eased  her 
conscience  by  a  very  tearful  confession.  No  effort  of 
Claire's  could  stop  her  when  she  began  to  explain  how 
and  why  she  had  first  deserted  her  mistress.  It  was  the 
master^s  cruel  pestering  that  had  compelled  her  to  depart 
from  Sedginoor  Street  so  obdurately,  when  the  kindest  of 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  285 

I  dstresses  was  lying  ill  in  bed.  And  Pope  went  on  to 
I  ewail  her  fault  in  having  taken  money  from  Roddy  as  a 
1  ribe  to  abet  him  in  his  clandestine  courtship  of  her  inno- 
( ent  young  lady. 

"  It  wasn't  a  lot  of  money,  ma'am ;  and  at  the  time  I 
{ wear  to  heaven  I  thought  I  was  helping  things  all  for  the 
1  »est.  I  was  fairly  took  in  by  him,  though  more  than  old 
<  nough  to  see  through  such  a  sham.  But  afterwards  I 
;ould  have  cut  my  hand  off  with  shame  and  sorrow  when 
;  witnessed  the  sequel,  and  had  to  watch  how  he  acted 
:owards  you.  .  .  .  No,  ma'am,  I  won't  speak  of  it  again, 
lever.  Only  I  had  to  tell  you  and  ask  for  your  forgive- 
less.'* 

Claire  said  there  was  nothing  to  forgive ;  nothing  done 
by  Pope  had  made  any  difference,  and  Pope  was  to  banish 
this  old  story  from  her  mind.  Then  Pope,  feehng  shrived, 
was  able  to  smile  steadily  as  she  bustled  about  her  tasks. 

In  the  morning  Claire  used  to  work  with  Gladys  at  her 
lessons,  pleased  if  her  httle  girl  showed  the  slightest  prog- 
ress, resolutely  shutting  her  eyes  to  any  signs  which  might 
suggest  that  the  pupil  was  less  capable  of  learning  than 
a  normal  child  of  the  same  age;  and  for  the  rest  of  the 
day  she  could  treat  time  as  her  own,  if  she  cared  to  leave 
Gladys  in  charge  of  the  admirable  Pope.  She  knew  that 
she  could  do  so  safely.  She  began  then  to  look  about  for 
employment  in  order  to  earn  a  little  money.  But  soon 
she  made  the  discovery  that,  ridiculously  small  as  her 
means  were,  they  were  more  than  sufficient.  She  had 
amassed  large  savings  in  Devonshire,  and  here  in  London 
these  savings  remained  intact.  Notwithstanding  the  com- 
paratively high  rent  paid  to  Mrs.  Morris  for  her  smallest 
and  least  desirable  rooms,  in  spite  of  the  superlatively 
high  cost  of  food,  raiment,  and  every  other  necessity,  these 
two  women  and  the  child  were  able  to  live  comfortably 
and  well  on  a  veritable  pittance.  The  explanation  was 
simple  enough.     The  vast  insatiable  male  appetite  had 


286      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

been  eliminated  from  the  domestic  problem.  Hundreds 
of  thousands  of  women  had  made  and  were  making  Claire^s 
discovery. 

With  no  dark  thought  for  the  household  books,  content 
in  the  hour,  heedless  of  to-morrow,  Claire  walked  with 
light  footfall  through  the  long  summer  days.  The  weight 
was  lifted  from  her  shoulders,  she  could  carry  her  head 
high  and  dream  of  noble  things.  She  thought  almost 
continuously  of  the  war — the  titanic  struggle,  the  fight 
between  the  powers  of  light  and  darkness,  that  she  had 
almost  forgotten  while  locked  in  the  prison-house  of  per- 
sonal woes.  Surely  the  righteous  cause  must  triumph. 
However  dark  the  immediate  prospect,  the  end  must  come 
in  a  burst  of  dazzling  light.  God  would  not  permit  this 
deluge  of  blood  to  continue  indefinitely :  His  bow  was  in  the 
sky. 

Indeed,  already  there  was  more  hopeful  talk  on  the 
lips  of  men.  The  enemy  had  made  their  last  tremendous 
thrust  and  failed.  Amiens  was  not  to  fall;  the  open 
road  to  Paris  had  been  closed  once  more  with  a  gate  of 
fire. 

Claire  was  working  for  Aunt  Agnes  at  a  women's  guild, 
and  now  she  again  wore  her  Red  Cross  uniform  and  went 
on  two  or  three  afternoons  in  the  week  to  Lady  Pevensea's 
hospital  in  Arlington  Street. 

One  saw  the  war  here  under  its  gentlest  and  most  aristo- 
cratic aspect.  The  grand  house,  stripped  bare  except  for 
the  magnificent  pictures  and  here  and  there  a  piece  of 
furniture,  had  preserved  its  essential  stateliness ;  the  metal 
beds  stood  widely  spaced  along  the  parquetry  floor  of  the 
great  reception  rooms,  and  through  windows  so  tall  that 
they  seemed  narrow  one  looked  out  on  the  trees  and  the 
grass  of  the  park. 

Her  bed — or  rather  Miss  Verinder's  bed — ^was  at  the  end 
of  the  dining-room,  on  the  ground  floor,  and  Claire's  task 
wa^  to  attend  to  its  occupant  when  Miss  Verinder  went 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  287 

c  it  of  an  afternoon  for  her  prescribed  exercise  and  fresh 
a  r.  The  occupant  of  the  bed  now  was  a  new  arrival,  a 
(  olonel  Basil  Everett  who  had  been  rather  badly  gassed. 
''.  'hat  first  afternoon  he  was  sleeping  when  Claire  came  on 
c  aty. 

"  Is  he  blinded?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Miss  Verinder  cheerfully,  "  but  they'll 
1  ave  to  keep  the  light  from  his  eyes  for  some  time.  He'll 
I  e  quite  all  right,  they  say.  Greatly  distinguished  him- 
.'elf,  it  seems.  Done  grandly."  She  was  a  jolly,  capable 
i  ort  of  girl,  and  she  gave  Claire  directions  in  a  business- 
like manner,  eager  for  her  walk.  "  Talk  to  him.  It'll  do 
iiim  good.  If  he  complains  of  pain  in  his  eyes,  drench 
:he  under  bandage  with  this." 

Claire  looked  at  some  books  on  the  small  table  by  the 
oed  and  saw  that  her  beloved  Thackeray  was  represented 
among  their  authors !  then  she  sat  down  and  watched  the 
sleeper. 

He  was  a  man  of  about  thirty-five,  tall  and  thin,  and 
he  lay  on  his  back  motionless  with  hands  folded  on  his 
breast.  He  was  clean-shaven,  and  the  bandage  allowed 
one  to  see  that  he  had  a  broad,  intellectual  forehead  and 
a  long,  high-bridged  nose.  His  mouth  was  fine,  unsen- 
sual;  and  Claire  noticed  a  tremor  on  the  lips  from  time 
to  time  that  meant  pain  or  the  memory  of  pain. 

Then  all  at  once  he  woke,  and  Claire  asked  if  he  would 
like  her  to  read  to  him.  He  did  not  want  to  be  read  to, 
but  he  seemed  to  enjoy  talking  and  they  were  soon  launched 
in  a  discussion  about  books.  His  voice  was  a  little  husky, 
and  yet  one  felt  the  natural  pleasantness  of  its  tone.  He 
had  the  frank  abruptness  which  is  common  to  men  who 
are  quite  sure  of  their  position  in  the  world,  and  which 
sounds  to  a  stranger  almost  gracious  sometimes  because 
it  implies  at  once  confidence  and  equality.  But  he  shocked 
Claire  by  speaking  ill  of  Thackeray;  saying  he  was  an 


288      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

old  twaddler,  and  forcing  her  to  defend  the  characters 
in  The  Newcomes  one  by  one. 

However,  they  agreed  better  on  other  points,  and  it  was 
altogether  an  entertaining  conversation ;  so  much  so  that 
the  time  passed  very  easily. 

She  was  interested  in  him,  and  a  few  days  later  she 
heard  more  about  him.  An  elderly  cousin  of  his  had 
come  to  see  him,  and  this  lady  took  an  opportunity  of 
thanking  Claire  for  her  kindness. 

"  You  have  no  idea  how  much  he  appreciates  it.  He 
finds  in  you  what  is  so  rare  nowadays,  someone  who  can 
understand  what  he  calls  the  realm  of  thought.  He  is 
very  clever,  you  know."  And  she  continued  to  sing  her 
cousin's  praises;  telling  Claire  that  he  belonged  to  the 
Foreign  Office,  that  famous  statesmen  thought  highly  of 
him,  as  certain  to  make  a  big  career.  "  Directly  the  war 
broke  out  he  threw  over  everything  at  once.     Of  course, 

he  could  not  do  otherwise ;  and  yet "    She  sighed,  and 

left  the  sentence  unfinished.  "  And  he  has  done  sc  splen- 
didly out  there.'*  She  sighed  again.  "  He  will  go  out 
directly  they  let  him.  He  longs  to  be  back.  I  hope  he 
may  win  through." 

The  following  afternoon  Colonel  Everett  greeted  Claire 
quite  excitedly. 

"  I  have  made  an  astounding  discovery  since  yesterday. 
You  are  Mrs.  Vaughan.  When  they  said  that,  it  meant 
nothing  to  me;  but  you  are  the  Mrs.  Vaughan  who  was 
Miss  Gilmour." 

"  Yes." 

"  Then,  Mrs.  Vaughan,  I  am  an  old  friend  and  not  a 
stranger.  I  have  been  at  your  house.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber me — Basil  Everett?  I  talked  to  you  a  lot  at  an  eve- 
ning party." 

Claire  was  obliged  to  confess  that  she  did  not  re- 
member. 

"  How  humiliating !     Not  even  heard  me  spoken  of  by 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  289 

y  ur  relations?  Mrs.  Vaughan,  I  was  at  your  wedding. 
A  id  what's  more,  I  gave  you  a  wedding  present." 

"  You  make  me  ashamed." 

"  You  wrote  me  a  charming  letter  of  thanks,  and  said 
y  )u  liked  the  little  books — two  volumes  of  Tennyson — 
J  ^aud  and  Enoch  Arden.*^ 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad."  And  Claire  explained  that  by  cir- 
c  imstances  over  which  she  had  no  control  nearly  all  her 
•^  edding  presents  had  disappeared.     "  We  were  obliged  to 

s  3nd  them  to  a  warehouse — and  then Anyhow,  I  kept 

tiose  two  books — my  favourite  poet — and  in  that  lovely 
binding;  and  I  have  them  still  quite  safe.  You  know, 
('olonel  Everett,  you  didn't  write  your  name  in  them, 
l^ou  ought  to  have." 

"  I  will  now." 

"  I'll  bring  them  to-morrow." 

It  all  seemed  to  her  mysterious,  wonderful,  and  very, 
A'ery  pleasant.  He  was  reaUy  and  truly  an  old  friend. 
And  those  books !  What  a  strange  and  happy  chance 
that  she  had  not  lost  them. 

They  talked  that  afternoon  about  her  family. 

"  The  wedding — what  an  immense  time  ago,"  he  said 
musingly.      "  How  long?  " 

"  Nine  years." 

"  But  still  you  are  very  young.  You  were  only  a  child 
then." 

"I  am  nearly  thirty." 

"  Your  sister — Mrs.  Joyce !  She  used  to  snub  me  hor- 
ribly. That  nice  aunt  of  yours.  Miss  Graham,  introduced 
me  to  you  all.  She  has  always  been  extraordinarily  kind 
to  me." 

"  She  is  kind  to  everybody,"  said  Claire. 

"  Joyce,  your  brother-in-law!  A  barrister,  wasn't  he?  " 

"  No,  he's  a  solicitor.    He  has  been  knighted." 

"  Knighted !  How  on  earth  did  he  put  his  foot  in  it  and 
let  such  a  thing  as  that  happen?  " 


290  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Claire  laughed.  "  If  Emily  heard  you  speak  like  that 
she  would  be  very  angry.  She  is  very  proud  and  pleased 
about  it.'^' 

"  Have  any  other  members  of  the  family  got  into  trou- 
ble?" 

Claire,  laughing,  said  yes,  her  brother  John  had  been 
made  a  baronet;  but  that  was  always  expected. 

"  So  it  didn't  come  as  a  blow?  And  that  nice  old  chap, 
le  pere  noble,  who  gave  you  away  ?  " 

"  Uncle  Derek !  Oh,  he's  very  well,"  and  she  told  how 
he  had  been  a  special  constable  from  the  beginning  of  the 
war,  out  in  all  weathers  and  never  complaining,  although 
over  seventy. 

"  They'll  knight  him  too,  if  he  isn't  careful,"  said 
Colonel  Everett. 

She  talked  with  absolute  freedom,  in  sympathy  with 
him,  trusting  him  instinctively  and  fully.  She  felt  the 
pleasure  of  a  freedom  that  she  had  not  enjoyed  for  all 
these  long  years.  In  all  her  married  life  there  had  not 
been  one  friend  of  Roddy's  with  whom  she  could  laugh 
and  talk  like  this,  without  constraint,  on  a  perfect  equality 
of  sentiment,  confidently  and  at  ease.  To  use  the  brutal 
word,  there  had  not  been  one  gentleman. 

Colonel  Everett  sent  his  love  to  Miss  Graham,  and 
wanted  to  see  her.  But  she  was  out  of  London  for  a  few 
days.  Claire,  however,  promised  to  write  to  her.  And 
one  afternoon  Aunt  Agnes  made  her  appearance  at  the 
hospital. 

Afterwards  she  praised  Basil  Everett  more  enthusias- 
tically even  than  his  own  cousin.  She  had  known  him 
since  he  was  a  boy,  and  had  always  admired  him ;  "  even 
had  dreams  about  him  at  one  time,  Claire — I  mean,  ideas 
of  how  his  life  might  be  arranged  for  him."  He  belonged 
to  an  old  family,  and  had  no  brother,  but  one  sister,  to 
whom  he  had  been  so  greatly  devoted  that  soon  after  com- 
ing of  age  he  gave  her  his  estate  and  nearly  all  his  money, 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  291 

keo  )ing  only  a  small  farm  for  himself.  "  People  don't 
do  things  like  that  unless  they  are  a  little  out  of  the 
CO]]  mon  run,  do  they,  Claire?  "  The  sister  was  married 
ar(  ungrateful.  But  when  he  spoke  of  her  no  one  would 
gv:<  ss.  "  Has  she  been  to  see  him,  Claire?  " 
,      '   No,  I  don't  think  so." 

'  •  A  selfish  cat,"  said  Miss  Graham. 
Vt  this  period  an  epidemic  of  marriage  had  broken  out 
an  ong  the  amiable  and  attractive  young  nurses  collected 
by  Lady  Pevensea,  and  during  a  little  while  the  hospital 
fc]'  the  first  time  in  its  history  found  itself  short-handed. 
Miss  Verinder  escaped  the  contagion,  but  she  was  promoted 
temporarily  to  higher  oiBce ;  thus  the  chance  came  to  Claire 
of  being  really  useful.  For  a  whole  week  she  received 
rt,|ular  employment,  working  from  midday  to  midnight; 
SLXid  then,  through  no  fault  of  their  own,  but  owing  to  the 
return  of  several  of  the  newly-wed,  Miss  Verinder  was  re- 
duced in  rank  again  and  Claire  fell  back  to  her  position  of 
visiting  assistant. 

Colonel  Everett  chaffingly  complained  that  she  had 
neglected  him  during  this  time  of  stress,  although,  in  fact, 
she  had  given  him  as  much  attention  as  was  possible ;  and 
he  welcomed  her  renewed  leisure  as  propitious  to  his  con- 
valescence. "  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  the  better  I  get,  the 
ciuUer  I  feel." 

He  was  doing  remarkably  well.  That  huskiness  had  gone 
from  his  voice ;  soon  a  green  shade  would  take  the  place  of 
ihe  bandages,  and  he  would  be  allowed  to  use  his  eyes  a 
-ittle  every  day. 

He  used  to  talk  about  the  sensations  of  blind  men  and 
:he  sharpening  of  the  other  senses  that  are  supposed  to 
result  from  the  loss  of  sight.  "  I  think  that  must  be  bosh," 
ae  said.  "  I  haven't  developed  any  Sherlock  Holmes 
faculties."  And  smilingly  he  added  that  he  almost 
dreaded  seeing  Claire  again,  lest  he  should  find  her  greatly 
changed. 


292      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  I  remember  you  so  well.  You  had  dark  hair,  and  dark 
eyes.  Now  you'll  want  to  murder  me  when  I  tell  you  this. 
Before  I  knew  who  you  were — at  the  very  beginning — I 
thought  you  were  quite  young,  absurdly  young.  I  built  up 
the  picture  of  somebody,  well,  quite  different  from  what 
you  are ;  a  rather  dumpy  little  person  with  fair,  even  sandy 
hair,  freckles — and  eye-glasses.  Mrs.  Vaughan,  I  was  sure 
you  had  eye-glasses.  But,  good  gracious,  after  all,  have 
you?  '' 

"  No,"  said  Claire,  with  her  pretty,  low-toned  laugh 
sounding  exactly  as  it  used  to  do  at  Hague  House.  "  How 
dreadfully  silly  you  are  about  it !  " 

"  That's  all  right.  I  breathe  again.  Of  course,  I  should 
have  heard  the  glasses  falling  with  a  click  against  your 
belt." 

Why  was  it  that  he  could  say  these  things,  implying 
some  memory  of  good  looks,  of  something  about  her  worthy 
of  admiration,  and  yet  neither  embarrass  her  nor  make 
her  in  the  least  angry?  It  was  because  of  the  perfectly 
frank  tone,  the  lightness  and  yet  the  solid  weight  that  are 
at  once  the  attributes  of  friendship.  She  thought  of  knock- 
down compliments  dealt  her  by  some  of  Roddy's  pals,  and 
of  her  disgust  and  annoyance  as  she  evaded  any  opening 
for  further  assaults. 

"  Do  tell  me  about  your  daughter,"  said  Basil  Everett. 
"  Is  she  like  you?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so,"  and  there  was  sudden  sadness 
in  Claire's  tone.  "  They  say  she  is  like  a  sister  of  mine — 
who  died."  It  had  always  made  her  wince  when  her  mother 
and  Emily  harped  on  this  fancied  resemblance,  saying: 
"  She  is  more  and  more  like  poor  Angela." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Everett,  "  that  you'll  let  me  make  the 
acquaintance  of  Miss  Claire." 

"  Her  name  is  not  Claire.     We  called  her  Gladys." 

"  Oh,  what  a  pity!  Why  was  that?  Claire  is  such  an 
awfully  pretty  name." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  293 

*  I  had  a  superstitious  fancy  that  it  wasn't  a  lucky 
or  ?.'' 

''  Oh,  that  was  the  reason.'' 

And  she  felt  certain  that  he  understood  as  clearly  as  if 
si]  3  had  said :  "  My  married  life  was  not  a  happy  one.'' 
Ir  his  brief  silence  he  conveyed  to  her  a  sympathy  more 
re  fretful  and  sincere  than  if  he  had  openly  expressed  comt- 
ni  seration.  He  could  never  have  heard  anything  about 
h(r  troubles,  she  had  had  no  intention  of  hinting  at  them, 
biit  she  was  glad  that  he  knew  the  truth. 

At  last  the  time  came  when  the  bandage  was  removed, 
a  J  id  he  peeped  at  a  brilliantly  illuminated  universe  from 
beneath  a  large  green  shade.  "I  have  had  it  right  off 
f  (►r  five  minutes  this  morning,"  he  told  her  g^ily ;  "  and  I 
ii'iver  saw  better  in  my  life.  I  may  have  it  oif  for  another 
two  minutes  this  afternoon.  I  can  see  you  now,  you  know. 
\  ou  are  taller  than  I  remembered."  And  presently  he 
3*aised  himself  in  bed,  and  said  that  he  would  have  the 
i^o  minutes  without  any  further  delay.  "  It's  no  good 
hoarding  it  up.  They  may  give  me  another  two,  if  I  spend 
these  promptly." 

"You  are  sure  it's  all  right?  Don't  look  towards  the 
window." 

"  No,  I  want  to  look  at  you." 

He  had  pushed  the  shade  up  above  his  forehead,  and 
tiis  rather  deep-set  eyes  examined  her  with  a  grave 
scrutiny.  She,  too,  was  studying  attentively,  never  till  now 
having  known  the  natural  aspect  of  his  face.  Only  his 
mouth  had  been  really  familiar  to  her.  He  seemed 
stronger,  more  serious  and  reserved  than  she  had  imagined. 

"  Well,"  she  asked,  "  am  I  very  different  from  what  you 
remembered?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her  gravely  and  kindly; 
"  very  much  indeed." 

She  smiled  back  at  him,  without  the  least  self- 
consciousness. 


294.  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Of  course  you  were  a  girl,  and  now  you  are  a  woman, 
I  can  only  think  of  that  extremely  hackneyed  phrase: 
Something  has  gone  from  you,  and  something  has  been 
given  to  you.  But  let  me  hasten  to  add  that  you  have 
gained  on  balance." 

She  stood  with  his  watch  in  her  hand  counting  the 
seconds — ^while  he  went  on  talking,  about  the  room  and  a 
picture  at  the  far  end  over  one  of  the  marble  chimney- 
pieces. 

"  Five  more  seconds,"  said  Claire.  ..."  Now." 

And  he  covered  his  eyes,  and  lay  down  again. 

"  Has  it  made  your  eyes  ache  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  Oh,  if  they'd  only  let  me  get  up,  I  should 
be  as  right  as  rain.  My  chest  is  absolutely  clear.  I  think 
it's  old-womanish  nonsense  keeping  me  here  when  I  ought 
to  be  out  and  getting  fit  as  fast  as  I  can." 

"  They'll  soon  let  you  go  out  now.   Miss  Verinder  said  so." 

She  always  remembered  that  afternoon,  because  it  was 
the  one  on  which  he  talked  to  her  about  the  war.  She  had 
asked  him  if  he  ever  doubted. 

"  You  never  doubt,  either,"  he  said.  "  No,  I  am  sure 
you  don't." 

And  he  went  on  to  speak  of  the  certainty  of  victory, 
and  the  wonderful  work  to  be  done  in  the  reconstruction 
of  the  world  after  the  war.  He  said  how  at  this  time  one 
felt  that  only  the  future  of  our  race  counted,  and  that  the 
fate  of  the  individual  was  nothing.  He  said  it  was  dreadful 
to  hear  politicians  still  urging  people  to  forget  themselves 
and  do  their  duty  in  the  cause  of  humanity,  because  truly 
there  was  no  need,  there  never  had  been  any  need,  for  such 
goading  eloquence.  One  might  try  to  think  of  oneself, 
one's  own  small  griefs  or  cares,  but  one  could  not  do  it. 
One  lost  oneself  in  the  colossal  agony,  the  supreme  hope. 

"  Mrs.  Vaughan,  you  know  what  I  mean,  though  I  say  it 
so  feebly.  It  is  wonderful  to  live  in  such  a  period — or  to 
die  in  it  either.     You  know  that  thing  of  Julia  Ward 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  296 

H  »we's.  I  always  think  of  one  line.  *  He  hath  sounded 
fo  th  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call  retreat.'  The  men 
±h  ;mselves  feel  it — they  can't  help  feeling  it.  They  are 
lii  ced  out  of  themselves — they  are  marching  to  the  glory, 
ai  d  they  are  content,  though  it  is  a  glory  they  may  never 
sc  %" 

And  Claire,  sitting  by  the  open  window  and  listening, 
f  e  t  that  she,  too,  was  content,  no  matter  what  happened 
tc  her.  He  talked  in  his  usual  quiet  voice,  without  any 
ef'ort  after  rhetoric,  not  choosing  words  or  trying  to  give 
tl  em  emphasis,  but  with  intense  conviction,  and  the  words 
ni3ved  her  to  her  depths. 

"  What  work  to  do — what  work  for  every  living  man 
and  woman  on  the  earth!"  And  he  spoke  again  of  the 
fresh  clean  world  to  be  built  up  from  the  blood-stained 
luins  of  the  world  that  had  gone. 

Claire,  with  her  back  to  the  quiet,  peaceful  room,  looked 
out  of  the  window,  at  the  open  park,  men  and  women  and 
children  sauntering  along  the  paths,  the  dipping  line  of 
trees  with  the  white  houses  of  Piccadilly  seen  here  and  there 
e.bove  their  topmost  branches ;  and  even  this  common  town 
\fas  beautiful  in  the  glory  of  the  warm  summer  light.  She 
felt  that  she  was  looking  at  the  beauty  of  the  world  which 
nothing  can  destroy,  and  that  her  heart  was  beating  calmly 
to  the  rhythm  of  eternal  hopes.  Westward  across  the 
f  tretch  of  grass  the  people  in  the  far  distance  seemed  to 
l>e  hurrying  towards  a  golden  haze — the  vision  of  splendour 
ind  victory. 

She  had  been  lifted  out  of  herself.  She  thought,  "  This 
s  how  one  ought  to  feel;  these  things  are  what  I  have 
craved  to  hear  said."  If  she  never  saw  him  again,  she  would 
)e  grateful  to  him  for  putting  into  plain  words  the  highest 
md  finest  thoughts  of  the  passing  hour. 

Going  home,  she  wondered  if  he  had  done  it  with  a 
purpose — especially  all  that  he  had  said  about  the  in- 
significance of  the  individual — in  order  to  help  her. 


CHAPTER  XXni 

THIS  friendship  continued  after  he  left  the  hospital, 
and  they  met  often  at  Aunt  Agnes's  house  in  Hans 
Place.  One  day  they  all  went  to  tea  with  him  at 
his  rooms  in  a  new  block  of  buildings  near  St.  James's 
Square.  He  was  delightfully  kind  to  little  Gladys,  and  he 
astounded  his  older  visitors  by  the  amount  of  sugar  and 
sugary  cakes  that,  despite  of  severe  food  regulations,  he 
had  somehow  contrived  to  obtain.  It  was  a  gay  and 
happy  party. 

He  had  been  before  a  medical  board;  soon  he  would  go 
before  another,  and  in  this  vacant  time  of  unemployment 
he  put  himself  at  the  service  of  Miss  Graham  and  Claire. 
For  a  week  or  ten  days  he  had  a  motor-car  at  his  disposal, 
and  he  took  them  for  some  pleasant  drives ;  after  that  he 
was  always  inventing  little  treats  or  amusements  which 
Claire,  no  longer  wanted  by  the  hospital,  greatly  enjoyed; 
when  they  refused  an  excursion,  he  offered  to  fetch  or 
carry  for  them,  to  make  himself  useful  to  them  in  any 
possible  way. 

Aunt  Agnes  raved  about  his  unselfishness.  She  said  he 
had  strayed  among  them  from  another  century ;  he  was  a 
knight  errant,  a  very  perfect  knight  indeed.  "  I  mean  it, 
Claire.  If  all  men  were  like  him,  I  should  have  no  quarrel 
with  the  sex.    But  it  is  the  exception  that  proves  the  rule." 

Claire,  naturally  comparing  him  with  other  men  and 
allowing  for  characteristic  exaggeration,  found  him  almost 
all  that  her  aunt  said.  She  was  touched  by  his  unfailing 
kindness  to  Gladys.  He  had  insisted  that  Gladys  should 
be  taken  with  them  for  those  expeditions,  and  the  child 
had  given  her  small  heart  to  him  completely.  Claire  felt 
strong  indignation  when  she  thought  of  that  callous,  un- 

296 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  297 

g  ateful  sister  who  had  accepted  so  much  and  given  noth- 
13  g  in  exchange. 

She  was  surprised  that  such  a  man  should  seem  now  so 
/  iendless  and  alone ;  she  could  not  believe  that  his  time 
'  as  so  little  mortgaged  to  the  claims  of  others  as  to 
T.  ake  him  really  free  to  waste  it  without  limit  on  Aunt 
.  gnes  and  herself ;  but  he  said  always  that  he  had  noth- 
1  ig  else  to  do  and  no  one  else  that  he  wanted  to  see.  He 
t  >ld  her  in  effect  that  his  friends  were  few,  but  very  dear 
t  J  him.  The  men  of  whom  he  was  fond  were  all  on  active 
service.  He  hated  his  clubs.  He  was  quite  at  a  loose 
end. 

He  knew  the  Bedminsters,  and  went  with  Miss  Graham 
i.nd  her  niece  to  the  wedding  of  Cyril.  It  was  a  solemn 
f^nd  rather  austere  gathering  at  St.  Margaret's,  West- 
minster; the  intimate  friends  of  both  families  did  not  fill 
a  quarter  of  the  big  church;  and  as  there  were  no  form- 
ings up  of  soldiers  at  the  door,  no  excesses  of  floral  decora- 
tion, no  inviting  paths  of  red  cloth  to  attract  public 
notice,  very  few  wanderers  came  in  from  the  streets. 

Cyril  had  developed  in  body  as  well  as  mind  during  the 
war ;  he  looked  very  big  round  the  chest  as  he  stood  stiffly 
to  attention ;  his  expression  was  proud  and  staid,  while  the 
loftiness  of  his  changed  views,  the  disregard  of  all  the 
pretty  toys  of  life,  was  well  exemplified  by  a  total  absence 
of  care  as  to  what  happened  to  his  new  red  hat  with  its 
shining  gold  lace  and  black  peak.  Abandoned  as  a  bauble, 
it  rolled  and  faintly  clattered  on  the  stone  pavement. 
But  Cyril  did  not  move  a  muscle  or  blink  an  eye. 

"  Wilt  thou  have  this  Woman  to  thy  wedded  wife,  to 
live  together  after  God*s  ordmmice  in  the  holy  estate  of 
Matrimony?  '* 

Claire,  kneeling  while  others  stood,  listened  to  the  por- 
tentous words,  and  prayed  that  Cyril  might  be  happy  with 
his  serious  lady. 

There  was  no  reception,  because  of  the  war;  the  high- 


298      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

minded  Bedministers  considering  even  tea  and  biscuits  Im- 
proper at  such  a  time.  But,  balked  of  a  party,  the  guests 
lingered  about  the  porch  making  there  an  informal  assem- 
bly. One  saw  Emily  and  heard  her,  loud  and  jovial,  ac- 
cepting congratulatory  compliments  on  her  elevation  to 
the  titled  classes.  "  Well,"  said  Emily,  "  it  is  a  recog- 
nition of  what  Leonard  has  done.  That's  why  I  value  it." 
Uncle  Derek,  in  a  frock-coat  and  white  waistcoat,  was 
very  busy  introducing  old-fashioned  nobles  to  the  Gilmour 
clan.  Mrs.  Gilmour,  very  grand,  placid,  and  absent- 
minded,  threaded  the  throng  and  sent  people  on  errands 
to  find  the  parasol  that  she  had  left  in  the  front  pew  and 
the  glove  that  she  fancied  she  had  dropped  in  the  vestry. 

"  Claire,"  she  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  but  Roddy 
should  have  been  here,  too.  He  should  have  come  back 
from  America  on  purpose,  if  necessary,"  and  she  became 
severe.  "  Claire,  I  do  not  like  this  long  absence  of  his ; 
and,  what  is  more,  I  do  not  understand  it." 

It  was  immediately  after  this  apotheosis  of  her  adoredl 
Cyril  that  poor  Mrs.  Gilmour  suffered  from  one  of  those 
mishaps  to  which  she  had  been  peculiarly  subject  all  her 
life.  The  news  ran  round  the  family  that  mother's  lease- 
hold houses  had  been  demolished  during  the  last  air  raid; 
and  that  owing  to  mother's  forgetfulness,  in  spite  of  the 
most  urgent  warnings  and  entreaties  from  old  Mr.  Collie, 
she  had  omitted  to  insure  the  houses  against  war  risks. 
Now  the  unlucky  leaseholder  would  have  to  rebuild  the 
whole  of  these  tenements  at  her  own  charge  and  hand  them 
over  to  the  ground  landlord  all  new  and  spic  and  span  in 
two  years  from  now.  Of  course,  it  was  wicked  of  Mr. 
Collie,  knowing  what  mother  was,  not  to  have  insured  the 
things  himself  on  his  own  responsibility. 

Mrs.  Gilmour  announced  to  the  world  that  she  would 
have  to  give  up  Hague  House;  and  she  wrote  to  Claire 
asking  if  she  could  have  a  bed-sitting-room  at  Mrs. 
Morris's  lodgings ;  "  for  I  am  both  homeless  and  ruined." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  299 

But  it  was  not  as  bad  as  everybody  anticipated.  One 
s  )n  learned  that  Mrs.  Gilmour  had  misread  one  letter  and 
I  t  opened  another ;  and  that  a  visit  to  the  property  had 
s;  own  that  only  the  corner  house  had  been  destroyed. 
'^  le  blow  was,  so  to  speak,  heavy,  but  by  no  means  a 
1  lock-out.  Although  still  further  crippled  in  her  re- 
f^  urces,  Mrs.  Gilmour  would  not  be  bereft  of  all  visible 
1  eans  of  subsistence.  For  the  present,  at  least,  she  and 
[  elton  would  remain  at  Hague  House. 

Claire,  greatly  relieved  by  a  note  from  her  mother  can- 

I  illing  her  recent  booking  of  apartments,  felt  very  happy 
M^ain.  Indeed,  at  this  time  she  was  almost  inexplicably 
iiappy.     More  and  more,  it  seemed  to  her  that  hope  was 

II  the  air;  an  unreasoned  optimism  now  filled  one's  heart; 
s  Doner  than  experts  dared  predict  peace  was  coming  to  a 
tortured  world. 

But  then  of  a  sudden  she  was  shaken  by  a  gust  of  grief. 
One  morning  she  read  in  the  newspaper  of  the  accidental 
death  of  Evan  Giles.  He  had  fallen  from  a  high  cliff  in 
Cornwall,  and  his  mutilated  body  had  been  found  by  fisher- 
men on  the  rocks  below.  There  would  be  an  inquest,  al- 
though no  one  could  doubt  that  the  deceased  had  lost  his 
life  by  an  accident. 

Claire  sat  staring  at  the  newspaper  and  trembling.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  read  the  paragraph  years  ago, 
she  knew  its  wording  6o  well,  or  that  the  sad  news  itself 
was  the  fulfilment  of  an  ugly  dream.  Then  at  once  she 
knew  that  there  had  been  no  accident.  She  was  again  in 
that  littered,  dusty  room;  she  could  hear  his  voice,  as  he 
spoke  of  going  quietly,  without  any  loud  song  of  Nunc 
Dvmttis.  But  he  had  said  that  he  did  not  mean  it.  He 
had  said  that  when  people  talked  like  that  they  never 
meant  it. 

The  evening  papers  had  obituary  notices,  and  as  Claire 
read  them  she  could  hear  his  voice  once  more.  Every 
phrase  sounded  as  an  echo.    "  Unaccountably  surrendered 


300  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

or  let  slip  a  prominent  place  in  the  world  of  letters.  .  .  . 
Disappointed  critics  and  readers  alike  by  his  failure  to 
fulfil  this  early  promise.  .  .  .  Almost  forgotten  by  the 
novel-reading  public."  How  pitifully  true  his  forecast 
had  been.  How  cruelly  well  he  knew  what  they  would  say 
of  him. 

At  the  inquest,  briefly  reported  two  days  later,  the  evi- 
dence supported  the  theory  of  a  very  usual  kind  of  acci- 
dent and  rendered  only  one  verdict  possible.  The  deceased 
had  nothing  whatever  on  his  mind.  His  daughter  had  been 
lately  married  with  his  full  approval.  His  son  had  just 
secured  a  coveted  decoration  for  gallantry  in  the  field. 
The  deceased  had  expressed  great  satisfaction  at  both  of 
these  auspicious  events. 

But  Claire  knew ;  and  the  sadness  of  it  made  her  heart 
ache.  She  mourned  for  him  with  a  genuine  grief,  and  the 
sorrowful  truth  which  she  could  not  impart  to  others  lay 
heavy  in  her  thoughts. 

It  spoilt  much  of  her  pleasure  in  a  second  tea-party  at 
Basil  Everett's  rooms.  They  had  been  looking  forward  to 
tliis  treat  so  gaily ;  for  their  host  said  he  was  going  to  sur- 
pass himself  in  the  way  of  cakes,  and  he  had  promised  to 
show  Claire  some  of  his  prints  and  original  editions.  Miss 
Graham  declared  that  she  loved  going  to  this  part  of  the 
town,  because  it  was  so  entirely  masculine  and  one  saw 
there  such  monumental  proof  of  men's  selfish  greed  for 
luxury  and  their  incompetence  even  to  make  themselves  de- 
cently comfortable. 

"  These  clubs  and  chambers,  Claire,  without  a  woman's 
shop  visible.  Isn't  it  all  hideous  and  disgusting?  I  won- 
der-Basil can  consent  to  live  among  so  much  hate- 
fulness." 

They  passed  out  of  St.  James's  Square,  round  a  corner, 
and  into  a  narrow  side  street,  in  which  the  building  they 
sought  stood  facing  a  restaurant  and  a  hosier's.  The 
echoing  footsteps  of  a  porter  rang  loud  in  the  stone  hall, 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  301 

a  id  he  himself  presently  carried  them  aloft  in  a  lift  that 
li  id  not  even  a  bench  to  sit  down  on. 

"  Could  anything  be  more  inconvenient  or  worse  ar- 
ringed?"  murmured  Miss  Graham,  so  sweetly  that  the 
T  orter  thought  she  was  thanking  him. 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  he  said.  "  The  colonel  warned  me 
[  e  was  expecting  ladies.  'Tis  the  door  facing  you  at  the 
€  ad  of  the  corridor." 

Claire  would  have  guessed  that  he  was  a  soldier  who 
liad  done  his  duty  even  if  she  had  not  noticed  the  two 
^  round  stripes  on  the  sleeve  of  his  apple-green  coat,  and 
{he  smiled  at  him  kindly. 

Everett^s  rooms  were  truly  very  comfortable,  handsome 
:oo,  in  a  certain  style,  and  their  tenant  stoutly  defended 
:hem  against  Miss  Graham's  damaging  criticism.  He  said 
tie  had  occupied  them  for  many  years,  and  nothing  would 
ever  make  him  desert  them.  The  whole  house,  he  further 
maintained,  was  admirably  managed.  There  was  a  kitchen 
from  which,  if  you  wished,  you  could  have  a  meal  sent  up 
to  you  at  any  hour  and  on  the  shortest  notice;  the  house 
servants  were  attentive  without  being  obtrusive ;  there  was 
a  tradesmen's  entrance  at  the  back,  giving  into  another 
street,  so  you  never  saw  any  carts  or  errand  boys  at  the 
front  door. 

"  It  isn't  Hans  Place,"  he  said  gaily ;  "  but,  short  of 
that,  I  don't  know  what  one  could  ask  for  more." 

He  showed  them  pictures  and  photographs  of  countries 
through  which  he  had  travelled  on  political  missions,  and 
then  while  he  and  Claire  wandered  round  his  bookshelves. 
Miss  Graham  and  Gladys  sat  in  the  window  seat  and  en- 
joyed the  fascinating  depth  of  view  into  the  street. 

Claire  had  not  looked  at  many  books  before  she  began 
to  talk  to  Everett  of  Evan  Giles.  He  was  sympathetic 
directly  he  heard  that  the  dead  man  had  been  a  friend  of 
hers ;  but  already  there  had  been  time  for  him  to  make  a 
disparaging  remark  about  the  author's  later  work. 


302      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

*'  Oh,  don't  say  that.    He  was  a  great  artist.'* 

"  Yes,"  he  said  cordially,  "  I  do  agree  with  you.  Those 
first  books  were  very  fine.  I  know  I  have  some  of  them 
here ;  "  and  he  searched  in  one  of  the  book-cases,  came 
back  to  her,  and  put  a  copy  of  Blind  Purposes  into  her 
hands. 

She  turned  the  pages  with  tender  reverence,  thinking  of 
the  diligent  and  weary  hand  that  had  stiffened  and  grown 
cold,  and  tears  for  a  moment  filled  her  eyes  as  she  spoke 
again  of  the  lost  friend. 

"  He  was  so  kind  to  me  always.  I  am  so  sorry — so 
dreadfully  sorry  that  he  is  gone," 

The  sunlight  from  the  window,  warm  and  bright  and 
vivifying,  lit  up  her  face  even  in  its  sadness.  The  curve 
of  her  cheek  was  fuUer  now;  the  profile,  no  less  delicate, 
had  a  greater  dignity ;  her  pose,  graceful  as  ever,  had  the 
charm  that  comes  from  perfect  health.  As  she  stood  there 
in  the  completeness  of  her  slowly  matured  beauty,  with  the 
sunlight  full  upon  her.  Aunt  Agnes  thought  that  she  was 
indeed  a  dazzlingly  attractive  woman. 

"  Yes,  dear  Gladys,"  said  Miss  Graham ;  "  as  you  say, 
isn't  it  a  very,  very  long  way  down  there.?  " 

Then  again  she  looked  back  at  the  others,  thinking 
now  what  a  handsome  couple  they  made  standing  there  so 
tall  and  straight  by  the  rows  of  old  books.  She  thought 
of  what  one  of  them  had  said  of  the  other  years  and  years 
ago;  how  in  his  boyish  enthusiasm  he  had  vowed  that  she 
was  different  from  other  girls,  finer  and  fairer,  more  like 
the  girls  that  one  sees  only  in  one's  dreams.  When  pres- 
ently he  came  across  to  the  tea-table,  Miss  Graham  studied 
him  with  her  shrewd  old  eyes,  and  felt  convinced  that  he 
was  pretty  much  of  the  same  opinion  now  as  then. 

As  if  to  bear  out  his  vindication  of  the  house,  an  ex- 
cellent tea  was  brought  up  to  them  with  the  fruit  and 
cakes  and  dainties  that  no  one  nowadays  was  allowed  to 
buy. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  30S 

"  How  IS  it  done,  Basil?  " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Graham,  ask  no  questions.  We  be- 
I  Lghted  bachelors  wave  a  wand  or  make  a  sign,  and  the 
ichanted  banquet  rises  through  the  floor.  Obviously  it 
^  ould  be  impossible  if  a  housekeeper  and  six  parlour- 
1  laids  were  running  about  and  asking  each  other 
''ho  had  rung  the  bell,  instead  of  doing  any- 
hing."- 

Again  it  was  a  pleasant  meal.  Aunt  Agnes  benignly 
dipped  and  munched.  Gladys  was  hungry  and  joyful. 
Claire  forgot  her  sadness  and  was  glad. 

They  sat  there  talking  contentedly  till  the  child  was 
overcome  with  sudden  fatigue.  Basil  Everett  was  the 
jirst  to  notice  this. 

"  Is  enough  as  good  as  a  feast,  Gladys  ?  "  he  asked 
j^ently.    "  I  think  she  is  tired,  Mrs.  Vaughan." 

"  Yes,  I'm  very,  very  tired,"  said  the  child. 

More  than  anything  else,  it  was  Gladys  that  drew  them 
nearer  and  nearer  together.  Claire  was  grateful  to  him 
because,  having  easily  won  the  child's  afi^ection,  he  seemed 
to  value  it  as  something  precious.  His  voice  had  a  special 
tone  when  he  spoke  to  the  child,  even  when  he  was  laugh- 
ing and  playing  with  her,  a  tone  so  gently  protective  that 
it  stirred  and  thrilled  in  the  mother's  heart.  But  there 
was  a  look  in  his  eyes,  too,  that  Claire  had  observ^ed  once 
or  twice ;  a  look  that,  although  she  did  not  fathom  it,  gave 
her  exquisite  pain. 

One  August  afternoon  at  the  house  in  Hans  Place,  Aunt 
Agnes  was  taking  Gladys  out  of  the  room  to  show  her 
things  upstairs,  and  he  stood  at  the  door  as  they  went  out. 
His  eyes  watched  and  followed  the  child.  Then  when  he 
turned  from  the  door  Claire  saw  this  look  plainly,  and 
understood  it  in  the  swift  moment  of  its  vanishing.  It 
was  pity.  ^ 

Greatly  moved,  she  said  something  to  him. 
,     Sitting  down  beside  her  again  he  talked  to  her,  saying 


304      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

things  that  she  could  scarcely  bear,  that  she  certainly 
would  not  have  borne  from  anyone  else. 

"  But,  Mrs.  Vaughan,  this  is  only  what  you  think  your- 
self." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  it  fills  me  with  terrible  fear.  I  carCt 
think  of  it." 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  arm,  and  she  saw  the  look  again 
— pity  for  herself  now. 

"  But,  Mrs.  Vaughan,  one  must  not  fear.  Fear  is  the 
one  emotion  that  one  must  not  allow;  it  paralyses,  it 
makes  one  do  selfish  things.  With  those  we  love  we  often 
worry  ourselves  needlessly.  But  it  is  better  to  'know. 
There  might  be  things  to  be  done — ^now — that  won't  allow 
of  delay — for  Gladys'  sake." 

And  he  talked  to  her  of  a  specialist,  not  known  to  him 
personally,  but  of  whom  the  doctors  in  France  had  spoken 
with  the  highest  praise. 

"  I  would  like  you  to  consult  him.  I  could  easily  ar- 
range it.  My  cousin  would  take  you — or  Miss  Graham, 
of  course.  I  would  like  to  go  with  you  myself,  but  per- 
haps  " 

"  If  I  went  at  all,  I  would  like  to  go  with  you.  But  I 
think  not  yet."  She  was  wringing  her  hands,  and  her  voice 
grew  weak.  "  I — ^I  think  he  would  only  echo  what  other 
doctors  have  said." 

"  Very  well.  But  if  ever  I  could  be  of  use,  you  would 
let  me,  wouldn't  you?  " 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"  You  promise.    You  won't  forget  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not  so  many  friends  to  turn  to  that  I 
should  be  likely  to  forget." 

A  few  days  after  this  he  came  to  her  lodgings  and  took 
her  and  Gladys  out  to  luncheon.  After  luncheon  he  drove 
them  back  to  the  Marble  Arch,  and  they  sat  on  a  bench 
in  the  park.  It  was  a  glorious  dreamlike  afternoon,  with 
the  light  of  full  summer  streaming  through  every  crevice 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  305 

ii  the  heavy  foliage  of  the  trees.  Gladys,  dancing  about 
11  'on  the  chequered  surface  of  the  path,  soon  grew  tired 
v>.:  d  drowsy.     She  came  back  to  them,  to  sit  by  Basil 

.    li  verett,  and  fell  asleep.     He  had  put  his  arm  round  her 

f  a  id  she  slept  on  while  they  talked. 

He  told  Claire  that  at  last  they  had  passed  him  as  fit. 
3  e  was  going  out  in  a  week. 

Claire  listening  thought  of  him  as  the  perfect  knight, 
a  5  gentle  as  he  was  brave,  as  wise  as  good.  And,  listen- 
ing, she  grew  sad.  Now  soon  he  would  go  away,  and  per- 
haps give  his  splendid  life  in  all  its  purity  and  force  as 
i  •  it  was  a  worn-out  garment  for  which  he  had  no  further 
-  se.  She  thought :  "  The  sun  will  shine ;  the  cause  will 
r  riumph ;  and  perhaps  our  victory  will  be  sung  by  millions 
cf  coarse  voices  while  his  kind  voice  is  still.  It  will  be 
as  if  he  had  never  been — not  only  to  me,  but  to  others 
who  know  him  so  much  better  than  I,  who  love  him;  for 
none  who  have  the  right  could  know  him  really  well  and 
yet  not  love  him." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

^'^HAT  was  the  end  of  her  good  time.  The  shadow 
fell  upon  her,  blotting  out  all  the  light. 
On  the  morning  after  that  walk  and  sleep  in  the 
sunny  park  Gladys  complained  of  a  violent  headache* 
She  felt  sick  and  giddy,  and  by  the  evening  her  mother 
knew  that  she  was  really  ill.  Then,  rapid  and  terrible,  far 
worse  than  the  onslaught  of  the  pneumonia  years  ago, 
the  illness  announced  itself  as  desperately  grave.  The 
doctor  hastily  summoned  by  Pope  said  he  would  at  once 
send  in  a  nurse,  suggested  a  consultation,  and  without  ex- 
pressing a  definite  opinion,  spoke  of  diseases  the  mere 
name  of  which  seem  heavy  with  the  sound  of  doom — menin- 
gitis, cerebro-spinal  fever,  tubercular  meningitis. 

Claire  rushed  out  to  the  post  office  and  telephoned  to 
Ba^il  Everett  calling  for  help.  When  she  got  back  to 
the  lodgings  Miss  Graham  had  already  arrived,  had  told 
Mrs.  Morris  that  money  was  no  object,  had  taken  pos- 
session of  a  sitting-room  on  the  floor  below  Claire's  rooms, 
and  had  ordered  that  a  camp  bedstead  should  be  put  into 
it.  She  had  established  herself,  and  she  told  Claire 
that  she  meant  to  stay.  Soon  then  Basil  Everett  ap-. 
peared.  The  man  of  whom  he  had  spoken  to  Claire  was  at 
a  hospital  near  Egham,  but  Everett  had  been  able  to  get 
through  to  him  on  the  telephone.  He  would  be  here  in 
two  hours.  His  name  was  Rice-Wilcox.  And  Everett 
went  out  again  to  inform  the  other  doctor  that  the  great 
man  was  coming. 

Thus  on  the  evening  of  this  second  day  they  waited  for 

the  words  of  fate — words  to  be  spoken  by  the  lips  of  a 

small,  grey,  insignificant-looking  man,  coming  swiftly  to 

them  now  through  the  pleasant  summer  night ;  two  beams 

306 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  30f 

c     white  radiance  piercing  the  darkness  of  tree-shaded 

I  ids,  as  his  car  swept  him  along  nearer  and  nearer;  a 

I I  rob,  a  vibration  of  mere  mechanic  power,  with  a  human 
1  nd  carried  in  its  train;  spinning  wheels,  lamp-light,  two 
ii  sects  flying  slowly  under  the  measureless  void,  on  the 
(  rand  of  a  Destiny  in  whose  sight  things  are  neither  great 
^1  )r  small  because  all  things  are  indifferent. 

Everett  stood  listening  at  the  door  of  Miss  Graham's. 
s  tting-room;  the  general  practitioner  sat  at  the  table 
:*3ading  the  newspaper;  Miss  Graham  was  coming  down 
*:  le  stairs  again.  She  said  Pope  was  in  the  sick-room  with 
wlaire  and  the  nurse.  Mrs.  Morris  had  taken  up  some 
lore  ice. 

"  Well,  he  ought  to  be  here  by  now,"  said  the  doctor, 
laying  down  the  paper.  "  No  news  of  any  importance 
io-night.*' 

Miss  Graham  and  Basil  Everett  both  looked  at  him. 
News?  What  did  he  mean?  For  the  moment  the  world- 
war  was  as  nothing.  Millions  more  men  might  die  in  it; 
but  they  wanted  to  hear  now  that  one  little  child  was  to 
live. 

"  That's  the  car,"  said  Everett,  and  he  hurried  down- 
stairs to  open  the  front  door. 

With  scarce  a  word  of  preliminary  politeness,  they  went; 
straight  upstairs  to  the  top  floor;  Everett  leading  the 
way,  the  two  doctors  following.  Mrs.  Morris,  on  the  top 
landing,  tapped  at  the  door  of  the  sick-room  and  Pope 
came  out,  then  Claire. 

Her  eyes  seemed  pretematurally  large;  her  face  had  a 
withered  whiteness. 

"  Nobody  in  the  room  with  us,  please,  except  the  nurse," 
said  Dr.  Wilcox,  with  a  quiet  tone  of  authority. 

But  Claire  suddenly  clung  to  Everett  as  if  for  pro- 
tection. 

"  Basil,  don't  let  them  keep  me  out  of  the  room.  I  must 
be  with  her.  When  she  comes  to  herself,  she'll  look  for  me 
— and  be  frightened  if  I'm  not  there." 


308  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

'^  Colonel  Vaughan,"  said  Dr.  Wilcox,  in  the  same  tone, 
*'  you  had  better  take  your  wife  downstairs.  We  may  be 
some  considerable  time." 

"  Yes,  dear  Claire,"  said  Miss  Graham.  "  Come  down 
and  wait  with  me." 

The  doctors  had  gone  into  the  room,  had  closed  the 
door  behind  them,  and  Claire  began  to  tremble  as  if  smit- 
ten with  ague.  "  Gladys — Gladys  is  unconscious,"  she 
moaned;  "  in — in  a  sort  of  stupor." 

Basil  Everett  had  put  his  arm  round  her  waist,  and  had 
held  her  firmly  from  the  moment  that  she  came  to  him. 
Now  he  gently  drew  her  further  from  the  door  and  led  her 
down  to  the  sitting-room. 

And  they  waited  there,  through  the  intolerable  ordeal  of 
suspense,  till  the  doctors  came  down  to  them.  Claire  sat 
silent,  and  motionless  except  for  the  trembling  that  never 
ceased ;  and  Everett  and  Miss  Graham  watched  her,  wrung 
with  pity,  suffering  a  torture  of  helplessness.  She  sprang 
up  at  sight  of  Dr.  Wilcox,  seized  his  hand,  and  spoke  to 
him  in  a  rapid,  high-pitched,  breathless  voice  that  was 
quite  unlike  her  own. 

"  You  can  save  her,  can't  you.'^  Is  she  very  bad?  Have 
you  thought  of  all  the  things  to  do,  to  make  her  well 
again  .'^  Don't  be  afraid  to  tell  me.  With  those  we  love 
it's  best  to  know.'' 

"  My  friend  and  I  are  going  to  discuss  the  treatment,'* 
said  Dr.  Wilcox.  "  Now,  won't  you  go  upstairs  and  sit 
quietly  with  your  daughter  ? "  And  he  asked  Miss 
Graham  if  he  and  Dr.  Draper  might  be  left  alone  in  the 
sitting-room  for  a  few  minutes. 

When  the  others  had  left  them  they  talked  of  the  case. 
In  the  opinion  of  both  it  was  hopeless;  but,  of  course,  a 
good  fight  must  be  made.  Dr.  Wilcox  asked  questions 
about  its  history,  questions  that  Dr.  Draper  was  unable 
to  answer. 

"  Very  sad,"  said  Dr.  Wilcox,  looking  at  his  watch. 
"  I  am  very  sorry  for  them.'* 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  309 

''  Don't  you  think,"  said  Dr.  Draper,  "  that  it  will 
re  illy  be  a  happy  release,  and  that  they  will  be  saved  from 
pj  in  that  might  be  worse  later  on?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  think  so,"  said  Dr.  Wilcox ;  "  but  they 
V  >n't  think  so.  I  am  afraid  you'll  have  trouble  with  that 
P"or  lady.  I  didn't  care  for  her  look,  or  her  manner, 
either.  I'm  afraid  you  may  have  her  breaking  down 
b{.dly.  The  husband  is  all  right.  He's  as  firm  as  a 
K  ck." 

"  That's  not  her  husband.     I  meant  to  tell  you  just 
I  now." 
<       «  Oh,  really?    Her  brother?  " 

"  No,  only  a  friend." 

*'  Then  who  do  you  think  I  had  better  talk  to  now  ?  To 
lilm  or  to  the  mother?  " 

"  It's  not  her  mother,  either.  It's  her  aunt.  Miss 
Graham  is  very  sensible." 

"  Oh,  I  see.    Well,  let  me  talk  to  both  of  them." 

Mrs.  Morris  and  Pope  had  both  noticed  the  doctor^s 
misapprehension  when  they  heard  him  address  Colonel 
Everett  as  Colonel  Vaughan,  and  Pope  afterwards  said 
'vith  deep  meaning,  "  I  only  wish  he  wa^  her  husband." 

"  I  quite  agree,"  said  Mrs.  Morris.  "  He's  a  very  dif- 
ferent style  of  gentleman  from  the  real  one." 

The  end  came  towards  dawn  of  the  day  on  which  Basil 
Everett  went  back  to  duty  in  France.  He  had  been  at  the 
house  all  through  the  night.  For  hours  he  had  been  wait- 
ing outside  the  sick-room  door,  and  the  dim  white  light 
showed  his  haggard  expectant  face  when  Dr.  Draper  came 
out  of  the  room  to  say  that  all  was  over.  He  said  he 
wanted  to  get  Claire  away  from  the  bed,  and  he  asked 
Everett  to  help. 

"  She  knows,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  but  she  tries  not  to 
believe.    It  is  painful." 

Truly  it  was  painful.     Claire  was  dreadful  to  see;  her 


310  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

eyes  wild  and  distraught,  her  whole  body  writhing,  her 
arms  outstretched  with  hands  that  seemed  to  seek  in  the 
air  for  the  small  hands  that  had  slipped  away  from  hers. 
Outside  the  door,  with  Everett's  arms  about  her,  she  began 
to  struggle;  and  the  violence  of  such  a  gentle  yielding 
creature  was  more  poignantly  significant  than  all  the  rest. 

"  Oh,  no,  certainly  not,''  she  cried,  in  that  high-pitched 
voice  the  tone  of  which  had  sounded  ominous  to  an  expert's 
ear.  "  I  must  be  with  my  child.  She's  an  only  child.  Do 
they  know  that.?  Then  why  do  they  keep  me  from  her.J^ 
I  have  stood  a  great  deal — ^but  I  warned  him  I'd  never 
stand  that.  Basil,  help  me.  You  said  you  would.  Re- 
member our  promise  "...  And  she  began  to  whisper 
hoarsely  and  rapidly.  "  This  is  a  trick  of  Roddy's.  He 
has  lied  to  me — he  swore  he'd  leave  us  alone.  Gladys  and 
I  were  to  be  together.  It  was  an  agreement.  I  paid  him. 
Don't  let  him  cheat  me  again."  And  she  called  her  daugh- 
ter by  name,  loudly.  "Gladys,  wake.  Gladys,  come  to 
me."  Then  in  a  moment  she  was  limp  and  drooping,  the 
fierce  strength  gone  as  if  all  the  inward  springs  of  life 
had  snapped,  and  her  tears  began  to  fall.  "  Basil,  are 
you,  too,  unkind  to  me?  You  are  all  the  same.  But  no 
one  can  hurt  me  any  more — not  even  God.  Because  I  am 
quite  alone." 

Miss  Graham  took  her  from  his  arms,  and  he  murmured 
incoherent  entreaties,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  said. 

"  Be  good  to  her.  Be  kind  to  her.  Take  care  of  her. 
Don't  let  harm  come  to  her.'* 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Miss  Graham,  "  I'll  take  care  of  her. 
I'll  guard  her  from  harm.  Go  now — and  don't  get  killed 
if  you  can  help  it.  There — I'll  write  and  tell  you  how 
she  is.'* 


CHAPTER  XXV 

"^ '  T  was  the  spring  of  another  year. 

.    1        The  war  had  ended  and  all  the  world  was  gay.    Ease 

f         after  labour ;  pleasure  after  pain ;  food,  wine,  and  love 

— all  that  men  arid  women  had  foregone  they  might  now 

er  joy  without  a  word  of  censure  or  a  conscientious  qualm. 

The  astounding  London  crowd  seemed  greater  than  ever; 

I  it  filled  the  pavements  and  overflowed  into  the  roadways ; 

e^.ii  a  purposeless  tide,  ebbing  and  flooding  through  the 

hours,  it  had  shown  this  sea  of  vacantly  contented  faces 

jince  the  flags,  now  torn  and  smoke-stained,  first  fluttered 

in  their  joyful  brightness  on  the  day  the  armistice  was 

signed.    Idle,  good-humoured  soldiers,  too  happy  to  salute, 

loo  tired  to  wear  their  belts,  formed  slow  eddies  round 

<:ach  house  of  entertainment,  and  by  their  multitudinous 

presence  made  even  the  oldest  and  safest  civilians  thrill 

:o  their  supreme  satisfaction.     To  be  alive!     What  more 

ihould  one  ask,  and  what  more  had  they  hoped  for?    The 

rapture  of  life  itself  was  the  force  that  pushed  and  dragged 

this  ever-moving  human  tide. 

But  Claire  walked  through  the  crowded  streets  as  if 
they  had  belonged  to  a  city  of  the  dead,  and  as  if  she 
herself  had  been  a  ghost. 

In  all  these  months  no  one  had  seen  her  and  very  few  had 
heard  news  of  her.  It  was  understood  that  Miss  Graham 
and  her  niece  were  together  somewhere  in  the  depths  of 
the  country.  The  house  in  Hans  Place  had  stood  close- 
shuttered,  silent,  forlorn;  but  now  its  white  eyes  had 
blinked  in  the  pale  March  sunshine  and  opened  to  the  fresh 
March  winds.  Emily,  driving  past  in  her  car,  clutched 
Sir  Leonard's  arm,     "  Aunt  Agnes  must  be  back  again ! 

311 


312      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

To-morrow  I'll  run  round  and  see  if  poor  Claire  is  with 
her." 

Claire  was  there,  thin  and  white  in  her  sad  black  dress, 
with  dark  circles  round  her  eyes,  and  such  a  smile  as  you 
see  on  the  lips  of  nuns  when  noisy,  exuberant  visitors  come 
and  chatter  to  them  in  the  convent  parlour.  "  Leonard," 
said  her  ladyship  that  evening  in  her  room,  "  I  never  was 
so  shocked  in  my  life.  She  has  lost  her  good  looks 
absolutely.  Aunt  Agnes  affects  not  to  notice  it.  You 
know  her  way.  But  it's  startling.  So  thin — and  simply 
colourless^*  And  Emily  with  unanalysed  pleasure  glanced 
at  her  own  ample  figure  in  the  looking-glass  and  saw  the 
complexion  that  surmounted  it,  richly  glowing  as  a  red 
sunset  viewed  across  billowing  downs. 

Now,  on  this  sparklingly  bright  afternoon,  Claire  walked 
slowly  along  Piccadilly  to  keep  an  appointment  at  the 
railway  station  in  Dover  Street.  She  was  going  to  meet 
her  husband  there.  He  had  written  to  say  that  he  wanted 
to  see  her  and  to  tell  her  how  deeply  he  sympathized  with 
her  in  her  grief.  Because  of  his  kindly  phrases  it  seemed 
impossible  to  disregard  his  wish,  and,  in  spite  of  protests 
from  Miss  Graham,  she  had  replied  that  she  would  be  at 
the  appointed  place.  Certainly  Miss  Graham  would  not 
have  allowed  her  to  go  unaccompanied  if  Roddy  had 
omitted  to  state  in  the  letter  that  he  had  no  wish  to  alter 
the  covenant  existing  between  himself  and  his  wife.  "  But 
the  mere  sight  of  him  will  upset  you,"  said  Aunt  Agnes, 
*^  and  remind  you." 

Claire,  however,  felt  no  more  emotion  than  if  she  had 
been  going  to  meet  a  stranger ;  and  when  she  saw  him  there 
was  no  other  mental  trouble  than  a  slight  difficulty  in 
identification.  That  big,  common-looking  man  in  a  blue 
serge  suit  and  very  new  brown  boots,  with  a  soft  grey  hat 
on  the  back  of  his  head — yes,  no ;  yes,  surely  it  must  be 
Roddy. 

"  Claire ! "    He  had  thrown  away  a  cigarette  and  was 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  315 

<  lasping  her  hand.     "  It's  good  of  you  to  come  like  this, 

hope  it  isn't  wrong  for  you  to  be  out.  You  look 
wretchedly  ill." 

He,  too,  was  shocked  by  the  deterioration  of  her 
ippearance. 

"  I  am  quite  well  again  now,  Roddy." 

"  Then  come  on,  and  we'll  get  somewhere  for  a  cup  of 
:ea  and  a  quiet  talk." 

Avoiding  the  thronged  tea-shops  he  took  her  to  a 
restaurant  in  Jermyn  Street,  where  a  drowsing  waiter 
grudgingly  cleared  a  table  that  was  already  laid  for 
dinner. 

"  You  see  we  are  empty  at  this  hour,"  said  the  waiter^ 
"  We  don't  expect  people  for  tea." 

"  No,  that's  why  I've  come  here,"  said  Roddy,  very 
much  in  his  old  style.  "  Two  teas,  my  friend,  and  sharp's 
the  word — or  send  the  proprietor  to  me  and  I'll  find  out 
the  reason  why." 

But  though  he  spoke  so  briskly  to  the  waiter,  there  was^ 
an  unremembered  kindness  in  his  tone  as  he  spoke  to  Claire. 
He  looked  across  the  table  at  her  commiseratingly. 

"  No  two  words  about  it.  You  show  what  you  have 
suffered,  Claire." 

Externally  he  was  altered  most  by  the  disappearance  of 
his  moustache ;  the  open  view  of  his  mouth  seemed  to  have 
permanently  unveiled  the  sensual  characteristics  that  used 
always  to  show  in  moments  of  passion.  There  were  new 
lines  of  care  about  his  eyes,  which  themselves  had  a 
clearer,  healthier  aspect  than  during  that  period  of  swift 
degradation  before  his  departure  from  London.  In  the 
keen  air  of  America  he  had  shaken  off  his  sloth — perhaps 
from  dire  necessity — and  he  was  still  awake.  He  said  he 
had  seen  some  hardships,  and  this  was  probably  true.  The 
hair  on  each  side  of  his  temples  had  began  to  turn  grey. 

"  Yes,  Claire,  that  man  Pottinger  was  a  crook.  It  came 
out  directly  we  got  across,  and  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty 


314      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

to  extricate  myself — and  a  part  of  the  cash.  However, 
after  a  bit,  I  was  doing  really  well,  and  would  have  done 
better  still,  if  only  the  war  had  lasted.  Claire,  no  one 
can  be  blamed  for  not  seeing  how  soon  the  end  would  come. 
But  all  at  once  the  armistice  was  on  us,  and  everything 
petered  out."  Then  he  said  that  he  was  over  here  only 
pro  tem.y  just  looking  about  him.  He  would  return  to  the 
States  in  the  autumn.  "  But  that's  more  than  enough 
of  me.  It's  7/ou  I  want  to  hear  of.  Tell  me 
about  yourself." 

"  What  can  I  tell  you?  "  said  Claire,  sitting  with  her 
hands  folded  on  her  lap.  "  Roddy,  I  have  been  down  in 
deep  waters.  I  thought  I  was  going  mad.  I  was  mad 
for  a  little  while." 

"  Poor  old  girl.  And  you  don't  touch  your  bread  and 
butter.  No  appetite?  Well,  well.  What  can  I  say  to 
make  you  know  how  I  sympathized — ^how  sorry  I  was  for 
you — when  I  heard?"  He  looked  at  her  hollow  cheeks, 
at  those  large  eyes  from  which  all  the  lustre  had  gone,  at 
the  slender,  too  slender,  shoulders,  feeling  a  sincere  and 
painful  regret;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  quite  a  noble 
thought  arose  within  him  and  forced  the  utterance  of  his 
further  words.  "  Claire,  I'll  set  you  free  for  ever,  if  you 
still  wish  it.  I'll  let  you  divorce  me,  as  you  asked  so 
often." 

And  again  she  had  that  cloistral  smile,  like  the  flicker 
of  wintry  sunlight  fighting  the  shadows  on  stone  walls. 

"  No  one  can  want  me  now- — not  you,  Roddy,  or  any- 
body else." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  such  things  as  that,"  he  said  kindly  and 
encouragingly.  "  You're  under  the  weather  now,  but  you'll 
soon  pick  up  again — yes,  and  be  your  fascinating  self 
again,  too,  making  peopld  look  round  at  you  in  the  street 
as  they  used  to  do,  what ! "  And  he  smiled  at  her  very 
kindly.  "  In  my  opinion  what  you  want  is  sea  air — 
Doctor  Brighton,  eh?  "    And  he  became  thoughtful  for  a 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  315 

i  w  moments.  "  You  know,  Claire,  I'm  boimd  by  the 
{  romise  I  gave  you — but  I  want  to  do  more.  There's 
I  othing  I  wouldn't  do  for  you  to  make  you  easier  in  your 
I  lind.  It  was  the  idea  of  absolute  freedom  that  you  always 
1  ankered  after — the  dissolution  of  the  marriage.  Well, 
J  say  again,  you  shall  have  it." 

He  spoke  firmly,  conscious  the  while  of  a  massive  glow 
(  f  magnanimous  feeUng ;  and  yet,  so  wonderful  and  rapid 
{.re  our  processes  of  thought,  he  had  automatically  re- 
viewed the  whole  situation  from  material  points  of  view 
<  ven  in  the  moment  of  speaking.  He  did  not  really  want 
:ier — she  had  hit  the  right  nail  on  the  head.  It  would  be 
18  much  to  his  advantage  as  to  hers  to  secure  freedom. 
Even  without  looking  for  them,  fair  chances  of  marrying 
igain  might  come  to  him  in  a  world  now  full  of  rich  war 
sridows.  With  half  the  boys  killed  oif,  a  still  attractive 
i[ian  of  mature  age  might  be  anyone's  fancy. 

Claire,  for  her  part,  was  thinking  dully  and  slowly.  It 
was  all  too  late.  It  did  not  matter,  either  way.  Nothing 
mattered  now. 

But  Aunt  Agnes,  when  she  heard  of  Roddy's  offer,  con- 
sidered that  it  was  of  most  tremendous  importance.  She 
said  they  must  close  with  it  at  once,  lest  for  some  cruel 
freak  he  should  withdraw  it.  "  He  is  as  dangerous  to 
you  as  ever,  Claire.  Take  my  word  for  it,  he  will  always 
be  dangerous  until  you  have  legally  cut  yourself  loose  from 
him.  I  don't  for  a  moment  believe  that  in  his  hateful 
heart  he  means  any  better  to  you  than  he  ever  did.  You 
should  dread  him  most  when  he  speaks  kindly.  The 
leopard  does  not  change  its  spots." 

With  eagerness  then  she  urged  her  niece  to  be  punctual 
in  keeping  a  second  appointment  two  days  after  the  first. 
Roddy  had  said  that  he  would  take  forty-eight  hours  to 
think  things  over  and  decide  exactly  what  should  be 
done. 

This  time  they  met  in  Hyde  Park,  near  the  Achilles 


316  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Statue,  and  the  day  being  mild  and  the  grass  fairly  dry 
they  sat  on  chairs'  at  a  little  distance  from  the  path  with 
its  passers-by,  where,  as  Roddy  pointed  out,  no  long-eared 
donkeys  would  be  gaping  at  them. 

He  said  at  once  that  he  felt  assured  a  divorce  would  be 
the  best  thing  for  Claire's  future  peace  and  comfort.  He 
would  therefore  gladly  agree  to  it — on  certain  conditions. 
Then  he  began  to  talk  about  money.  He  confessed  that 
hard  times  had  again  fallen  on  him,  owing  to  the  dis- 
appointment about  the  duration  of  the  war.  He  said  he 
knew  that  Claire  was  now  reduced  to  a  low  ebb  herself, 
and  he  hated  the  idea  of  further  curtailing  her  small  in- 
come ;  but  he  hinted  that,  since  the  little  one  was  gone,  the 
demands  on  Claire's  purse  were  naturally  much  less  than  in 
the  past. 

"  No,"  she  said  listlessly.  "  I  have  little  need  for  money 
now,  Roddy."  And  she  looked  far  away  across  the  grass 
and  through  the  bare  trees,  as  far  as  her  gaze  could  reach 
northwards  towards  the  Marble  Arch,  to  paths  so  often 
trodden  by  herself  and  the  child  a  year  ago.  "  How  much 
do  you  want,  Roddy?  " 

Roddy  thought  that  a  third  of  all  she  still  possessed, 
say  two  thousand,  would  do  him  grandly,  as  the  very  last 
dollop  for  which  he  could  ever  touch  her.  That  would 
be  handsome,  and  it  should  not  really  bring  her  down  too 
low. 

"  After  all,"  he  said  cheerily,  "  Mrs.  Gilmour,  Miss 
Graham,  and  the  others  would  never  let  you  run  really 
short." 

Claire  consented. 

Then  he  told  her  that  the  money  transaction  must  be 
a  close  secret  between  them.  There  should  be  no  letter- 
writing,  not  even  any  cheque-writing.  She  had  better  get 
the  money  as  soon  as  she  could,  drawing  it  from  the  bank 
in  notes  and  quietly  handing  the  notes  to  him.  One  could 
not  be  too  careful.    You  had  to  be  very  slim  directly  you 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  317 

egan  to  play  with  the  law.  "  If  there  was  a  suspicion 
f  collusion,  Claire,  we  should  be  carted." 

Claire  said  she  would  do  what  he  asked. 

"  Right-o !  Your  word's  as  good  as  your  bond.  Very 
rell,  then ;  "  and  though  he  did  not  snap  his  fingers,  he  had 
;he  same  exultant  tone  that  always  used  to  come  to  him 
with  the  prospect  of  a  good  piece  of  business.  "  I  trust 
you.  And  you  can  go  straight  ahead.  Instruct  your 
solicitors  to-morrow — that  old  ass  Collie,  I  suppose.  Any- 
how, the  sooner  the  better.  Count  my  desertion  as 
beginning  from  when  I  went  to  America,  and  let  Collie 
know  I'll  provide  him  with  everything  else  he  wants.  The 
whole  thing  will  be  as  easy  as  tumbling  off  a  house.  So 
there  you  are,  Claire.  You  get  your  wish — and  there  goes 
the  end  of  an  old  song." 

And  he  began  almost  at  once  to  speak  of  himself  senti- 
mentally and  musingly.  "  If  I  had  my  life  to  live  again, 
Claire,  Fd  set  to  work  on  another  plan.  I  see  so  plainly 
where  I  failed.  Things  were  against  me,  of  course — my 
bringing  up,  that  old  devil  who  defrauded  me.  I  got  the 
feeling  even  as  a  kid  that  if  I  didn't  assert  myself,  I  should 
be  trodden  on  by  everybody.  Yet  I  wasn't  a  bad  sort, 
really,  Claire ; "  and  his  voice  became  quite  wistful.  "  I 
meant  well.  Another  thing  I've  thought  of  these  last  days. 
Love  isn't  everything  in  marriage."  He  said  this  as  if 
wondering  how  it  might  strike  her,  as  an  entirely  new  dis- 
covery.  "  I  did  love  you,  Claire — yes,  and  felt  proud,  and 
grateful  to  you.  But  love  isn't  enough.  I  blame  myself 
for  not  understanding  that.  I  seemed  to  get  on  your 
nerves  sometimes,  and  I  may  have  been  unjust  to  you  from 
thinking  that  you  looked  down  on  many  of  my  ideas  and 
weren't  trying  to  help  me  as  you  might  have  done.  That's 
all  my  justification,"  he  said  gently.  "  I  don't  attempt 
to  shirk  the  blame." 

And  because  of  the  gentleness  and  seeming  kindness  of 
his  tone,  Claire  told  him  that  perhaps  she  was  as  much 


318  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

to  blame  as  he.  Her  i:ash,  ill-considered  marriage  had  not 
in  it  even  the  germs  of  happiness.  She  had  been  too 
ignorant  of  the  world,  too  unfitted  to  take  up  the  duties 
of  a  wife.  Then,  under  the  impulse  of  the  native  and  un- 
quenchable generosity  of  her  spirit,  she  paraphrased  the 
words  of  Evan  Giles  and  said  that  if  Roddy  had  found 
a  different  sort  of  woman  he  might  have  been  a  good 
husband  and  a  better  man. 

The  soft  mild  air  was  on  her  face.  All  round  them 
nature  was  again  working  her  miracle;  even  here,  in  the 
midst  of  a  city  park,  one  could  feel  that  the  sleep  that 
is  so  like  death  was  passing  away,  and  that  awakened  life 
was  busy.  The  light  itself  was  alive,  active,  searching, 
with  tremulous  effort  seeking  to  warm  and  brighton  all 
things  that  it  touched.  And  it  was  as  if  Claire's  frozen 
heart  suddenly  thawed;  and  she  began  to  speak  of  the 
dead  child. 

"  At  first  I  had  a  belief  that  the  weakness  came  from 
my  state  before  her  birth.  You  had  made  me — well,  I  had 
been  unhappy  at  that  time.  And,  Roddy,  while  I  con- 
tinued to  think  so  I  traced  the  fault  to  you,  and  laid  it 
at  your  door.  After  that  I  tortured  myself  by  thinking 
it  was  all  my  own  fault — that  I  had  not  taken  enough 
care  of  myself — that  I  had  done  foolish  reckless  things, — 
wearing  myself  out  with  fatigue.  Those  long  walks !  And 
do  you  remember  that  night  when  I  worked  for  you?  But 
I  know  now  that  it  wasn't  any  fault  of  yours." 

^^  My  dear  old  girl,  I  should  think  not.  I  never  saw  a 
bonnier  baby.  Why,  she  was  almost  as  heavy — they  all 
said — as  if  you  had  run  the  full  course." 

*'  And  it  was  not  my  fault  either.  It  was  inevitable. 
Nothing  could  have  altered  it,  nothing  could  have  pre- 
vented it  Roddy,  I  should  have  died  if  I  had  not  come 
to  understand  and  believe  this.  After  she  had  gone  I 
wanted  to  die — and  people  thought  that  I  would  not  re- 
cover.    But  then  a  friend  wrote  to  me." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  31^ 

"  And  what  did  she  say?  '* 

"  It  wasn't  a  woman ;  it  was  a  man — a  man  I  have  a 
.  reat  respect  for,  because  I  know  he  is  the  soul  of  honour 
■o  ad  would  never  trifle  with  the  truth.  He  was  out  in 
1  ranee,  in  command  of  his  battalion — Colonel  Everett — 
i  nd  he  wrote." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Roddy,  putting  a  large  hand  over  his 
^  baved  mouth  to  conceal  an  incipient  yawn.  "  Well,  what 
c  id  he  say.?  '* 

"  He  told  me  what  the  two  doctors  had  told  him ;  and 
1  e  got  them  both  to  write  to  me.  One  was  Doctor  Rice- 
Wilcox,  a  famous  physician.  They  both  said  they  were 
( onvinced  that  Gladys  had  been  saved  from  great  pain  and 
suffering — that  it  would  have  been  certain — that  even  her 
intelhgence  would  have  become  darkened.  And  out  of  that 
thought,  Roddy,  will  come  the  only  consolation  that  I  can 
(jver  know.  For — for,  if  it  was  best  for  Gladys,  how— 
]iow  can  I  think  of  myself.?  " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

^^'V  *T  EVER,  with  my  consent,"  said   Mrs.   Gilmour 

I  ^^      firmly. 

"  No,  I  thought  that  would  be  your  decision," 
said  Emily  Joyce,  who  had  come  bustling  round  to 
Hague  House  to  talk  things  over  with  her  mother. 
^^  Although  I  must  say,  from  what  Leonard  tells  me,  he 
has  treated  her  very  badly.  I  always  suspected  it.  But 
what  else  could  one  anticipate?  You  know  how  I  detested 
him  from  the  beginning.     He  was  only  after  her  money." 

"  It  must  be  two  years  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour,  "  when 
she  told  me  the  whole  story,  alleging  that  he  made  her  so 
uncomfortable  she  desired  a  separation.  I  reasoned  with 
her" — and  Mrs.  Gilmour  made  a  gesture  seeming  to  imply 
that  she  had  yet  to  meet  the  person  who  could  stand  up 
to  her  in  argument  for  five  minutes — "  I  reasoned  with 
her;  and  seeing  that  they  had  settled  down  together  again 
and  no  more  was  ever  said,  I  hoped  and  believed  that  she 
had  abandoned  the  idea.  It  was  separation  then.  Now 
we  are  asked  to  face  a  divorce.  Oh,  no ; "  and  Mrs. 
Gilmour  shut  her  eyes  as  if  she  had  seen  something  very 
ugly  indeed.  "  At  such  a  time,  too^ — ^when  she  is  in  deep 
mourning,  and  after  a  severe  illness.  Moreover,  from 
Tier  own  point  of  view,  and  strictly  between  ourselves,  what 
has  she  to  gain  by  it?  To  all  intents  and  purposes  they 
are  separated.  Did  you  know  that  throughout  that  time 
when  he  was  in  America  and  she  was  over  here  in  England 
they  were  not  living  together?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  that ; "  and  Emily  gave  her  hard  laugh, 
^'  That's  pretty  obvious,  isn't  it?  " 

"  I  meant  more  than  the  obvious  fact,"  said  Mrs.  Gil- 
mour with  dignity.     "  I  meant  that  there  was  some  tacit 

320 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  321 

anderstanding  between  them  that  they  intended  to  live 
apart.  It  was  something  I  did  not  like,  but  I  refrained 
from  probing  into  it.  Still,  if  necessary  now,  I  would 
sooner  condone  the  continuance  of  the  arrangement  than 
set  people  talking  by  attempting  to  bring  them  together 
prematurely.  So  long  as  Claire  remains  in  Hans  Place 
it  is  easy  to  explain  that  in  that  small  house  there  simply 
is  not  room  for  Roddy  as  a  staying  visitor.  As  Claire  is  in 
mourning  she  will  not  be  going  to  dinner-parties,  so  no  one 
will  wonder  at  her  being  unaccompanied.  Should  the  direct 
question  be  asked :  *  Where  is  Captain  Vaughan  ?  '  one  can 
reply  that  he  is  out  of  London." 

"  So  he  is,  too,"  said  Emily.  "  Leonard  has  heard 
that  he  is  following  every  race-meeting  in  the  kingdom." 

"  Very  well,  then ;  "  and  Mrs.  Gilmour  again  repeated 
her  determination.  The  divorce  proposal  was  to  be  ruled 
out  absolutely. 

"  Mother,  have  you  written  to  John  about  it?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear.    But  John  is  supine.   He  always  was." 

'^Does  Cyril  know?" 

"  Yes.    He  has  been  to  see  her." 

**  Did  he  find  her  obstinately  set  on  it  ?  " 

"  No.  He  thinks  it  is  your  Aunt  Agnes  who  is  egging 
her  on." 

What  had  happened  so  far  was  that  Miss  Graham  had 
been  to  Mr.  Collie  and  instructed  him  to  institute  pro- 
ceedings for  divorce  on  Claire's  behalf.  As  Roddy  was  now 
a  consenting  party  there  would  be  no  difficulties  and  in- 
tricacies for  Mr.  Collie  to  make  a  mess  of;  she  thought, 
therefore,  that  he  might  do  as  well  as  anybody  else,  and 
she  felt  that  it  might  on  the  whole  be  convenient  to  have 
the  matter  dealt  with  by  the  family  firm.  But  old  Mr. 
Collie,  knowing  that  he  was  on  the  black  books  of  Mrs. 
Gilmour  and  feehng  timorous  of  further  offending  her, 
considered  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  acquaint  Hague 
House  immediately  as  to  the  instructions  he  had  received. 


322  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Thus  Mrs.  Gilmour  heard  the  dreadful  word  divorce 
before  there  had  been  time  for  Miss  Graham  gently  to 
prepare  her  sister's  mind.  Thus,  too,  Claire  and  her  affairs 
were  thrown  back  into  the  hands  of  her  family,  and  the 
family  took  possession  of  her.  Once  more  it  seemed  that 
she  belonged  to  them. 

She  would  have  yielded  to  their  pressure  and  renounced 
all  effort  at  once.  But  not  so  Aunt  Agnes.  Cyril  had 
correctly  surmised  that  it  was  his  aunt  who  really  meant 
business.  Miss  Graham  was  ready  for  opposition,  and 
would  have  set  about  surmounting  it  in  her  own  quiet  way 
if  the  idiotic  Mr.  Collie  had  allowed  her  leisure;  but  now 
that  he  had  forced  her  hand  she  came  out  for  battle,  to 
fight  the  family  one  by  one  or  all  together,  just  as  they 
preferred. 

If  she  did  not  entirely  defeat  Cyril  in  a  first  encounter, 
at  least  she  drove  him  from  the  field. 

Cyril  was  now  accepted  candidate  for  a  constituency  in 
which  a  by-election  might  occur  at  any  minute,  and  he 
naturally  felt  that  he  should  be  guarded  from  the  slightest 
echo  of  dubious-sounding  words.  He  said  he  must  appeal 
to  Claire's  heart  if  her  head  did  not  show  her  the  peril 
iti  which  she  was  placing  him.  On  this  second  visit  to 
Hans  Place  he  brought  his  bride  with  him,  and  fortune 
favouring  the  attack  they  got  Claire  all  to  themselves  in 
the  room  on  the  ground  floor. 

"  I  am  your  sister,  Claire,"  said  Lady  Esther.  "  Is  it 
not  so  ?  " 

Claire  said  she  hoped  It  was  so. 

"  Then  when  a  sister  speaks,  you  will  listen  to  her  voice 
and  not  mind  what  love  prompts  her  to  say  as  well  as  duty  ? 
Sisters  are  very  near,  Claire.    More,  even  than  a  bruwer." 

Lady  Esther  was  like  a  large  old-fashioned  picture 
painted  in  subdued  colours.  Her  russet  toque  seemed  to 
shade  off  Into  the  tints  of  her  sandy  hair  and  complexion ; 
her  mouse- velvet  frock  joined  the  shadows  In  hollows  about 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  323 

>r  neck,  which  was  exposed  by  the  low-cut  collar  as  much 

5   fashion   ordained  without  risking  a  suspicion   of  im- 

odesty ;  her  eyes  were  slightly  prominent,  and  from  them 

i  lere  shone  palely  a  quite  unaffected  sense  of  virtue  and 

i  ood  Intention. 

Cyril,  looking  massive  and  solemn,  but  with  an  oc- 
( asional  petulance  reminiscent  of  his  unregenerate  days, 
J  tood  on  the  hearth-rug  admiring  Lady  Esther  and  feeling 
]>roud  of  her.  Only  her  bad  relapse  into  the  lisp  from 
^/hich  he  had  been  trying  to  cure  her  for  nearly  twelve 
months  was  irritating  to  him.  He  attributed  it  to  nervous- 
jiess.  But  if  she  went  on  like  this  she  would  be  worse  than 
iseless  on  a  political  platform. 

"  Anuwer  objection,  Claire — have  you  weighed  it? — 
:he  religious  one.  The  voice  of  conscience  cannot  be  smuv- 
Tered,  whatever  people  say.  It  is  in  ourselves  that  we  have 
to  decide.     My  muvver  never " 

"  Yes,  yes,  that's  all  right,  Esther,"  said  Cyril,  inter- 
rupting with  perceptible  irritation.  "  Look  here,  Claire, 
Fm  very  sorry  and  all  that ;  but  you  really  must  drop  it." 

And  it  was  just  then  that  Aunt  Agnes,  having  returned 
to  the  house,  came  quickly  into  the  room. 

"What  is  it  that  Claire  is  to  drop.?"  she  asked  pres- 
ently, after  exchanging  civilities  with  her  new  niece. 

"  This  divorce,"  said  Cyril.  "  We  are  both  appealing 
to  her  to  give  it  up." 

"Oh,  but  why?"  asked  Aunt  Agnes  brightly.  "For 
^our  sake,  Cyril?  " 

"  You  can  put  it  like  that,  if  you  like.  For  all  our 
sakes.'' 

"  Oh,  but  I  should  speak  for  yt}urself  alone,"  said  Miss 
Graham.  "  Because  naturally  you  carry  the  greatest 
weight.  You  have  such  tremendous  claims  on  Claire's 
obedience  to  any  wish  of  yours ;  "  and  she  turned  to  Lady 
Esther  with  great  sweetness.  "  Dear  Cyril  always  sub- 
ordinated his  life  to  others ;  but  his  unselfish  devotion  to 


324t  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Claire  has  been  really  too  beautiful  for  words.  In  all  things 
he  bowed  to  her  judgment  or  mere  inclination.  Fond  as 
he  is  of  you,  dear  Esther,  he  did  not  venture  to  propose 
for  your  hand  until  he  had  first  been  to  Claire  and  secured 
her  consent." 

This  oblique  narration  was  too  much  for  Cyril  al- 
together. His  still  bronzed  cheeks  glowed  in  a  crimson 
indignation,  and  he  cut  short  Miss  Graham  with  boyish 
protests.  He  had  not  come  there  to  have  his  leg  pulled; 
a  joke  was  a  joke;  and  so  on.  Besides,  in  sober  truth, 
the  matter  had  nothing  to  do  with  Aunt  Agnes. 

"  What's  it  got  to  do  with  anybody  except  Claire  her- 
self ?  "  she  retorted,  unusually  warm  and  incisive  in  tone. 
"  Fiddle-de-de.  You  go  into  parliament,  Cyril,  and  talk 
your  nonsense  there.    Don't  come  bothering  us  with  it." 

And  she  did  not  escort  her  young  relatives  past  the 
latticed  book-cases  and  through  the  small  paved  hall,  as 
was  her  usual  habit  with  visitors. 

"  Bless  you,  Claire ! "  she  said  fondly,  when  the  door 
had  closed  upon  them.  "  Don't  let  yourself  he  upset  by 
such  twaddle.  Now  here's  a  good  piece  of  news.  Derek 
Harpington  is  on  our  side.  You  see.  The  rest  will  follow 
like  sheep.  For  once  in  his  life  he'll  be  leading  them  in  a 
sensible  direction.  Not  that  he  or  any  of  them  matter 
really." 

Nevertheless  Miss  Graham  felt  that  Uncle  Derek  was  a 
great  and  invaluable  ally,  and  she  had  put  herself  to  pains 
in  securing  him.  Pretending  a  respect  for  Derek's  in- 
telligence which  she  was  far  indeed  from  feeling,  she  asked 
him  to  advise  as  to  what  he  thought  would  be  best  for 
Claire  in  all  the  circumstances.  Then  in  the  most  humble 
manner  she  put  the  circumstances  before  him.  Then  still 
further  to  gratify  Derek,  she  said  she  confided  in  him  as 
well  as  respected  him.  Quite  apart  from  the  fact  that 
Claire  was  still  young  and  with  fair  prospects  of  marrying 
again  if  made  free  to  do  so,  there  was  another  reason,  a 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  325 

V  ry  cogent  reason  known  only  to  Miss  Graham  herself, 
>v  ly  the  divorce  should  be  obtained. 

She  told  Uncle  Derek  this  strictly  confidential  reason; 
a  id  he  was  so  much  impressed  by  it  that  if  he  had  not 
a  ready  allowed  Miss  Graham  to  make  up  his  mind  for  him 
Ii  3  now  felt  able  to  make  it  up  for  himself.  He  decided  for 
t  le  divorce. 

The  failure  of  Claire's  marriage  was  a  disappointment. 
He  was  not  conscious  of  any  slackness  or  shirking  in  the 
?  ork  he  had  put  in  when  bringing  it  about;  but  it  would 
le  very  pleasant  if  by  taking  further  trouble  he  could 
:et  Claire  the  happiness  he  had  always  desired  for  her. 
jle  would  then  look  back  on  it  all  as  a  bit  of  work  that 
promised  well,  went  wrong,  but  came  right  in  the  end. 
Nothing  could  please  him  more.  And  fortunately  the  kind 
old  fellow  was  free  at  the  moment  to  throw  himself  heart 
and  soul  into  this  delicate  little  affair.  Since  taking  off 
]iis  uniform  as  a  special  constable  and  carrying  to  a  suc- 
cessful issue  the  secret  wedding  of  those  queer  young 
people,  the  Granville  Budleighs,  he  had  been  set  to  no  real 
task  by  any  of  his  friends. 

He  began  his  round  at  once,  calling  in  the  course  of  a 
single  afternoon  on  Emily  Joyce,  the  Bedminsters,  Cyril, 
and  winding  up  for  tea  with  Mrs.  Gilmour.  There,  in 
Hague  House,  as  Derek  well  knew,  lay  the  nut  that  had 
to  be  cracked  before  any  substantial  progress  could  be 
made.  Very  insidiously  then  old  Derek  began  the 
operation.  As  Emily  said,  her  mother  simply  didn't  know 
what  he  was  "  getting  at ;  "  and  herself  impatient,  she 
hurried  things  by  blurting  out  an  explanation. 

Emily  was  excited  now ;  she  enjoyed  all  the  talk,  and  the 
doubt  and  confusion  thrown  into  one's  mind  by  Derek's 
unexpected  attitude  made  it  so  delightfully  complex. 
When  you  are  all  agreed,  discussion  falls  to  the  ground. 
But  here  was  a  real  stinging  subject  for  debate  in  which' 
sides  could  be  taken,  hot  words  and  even  insults  exchanged. 


326  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Not  for  many  years  had  there  been  anything  like  it  in  the 
family.  It  was  still  a  profound  secret,  of  course — only 
to  be  spoken  of  in  whispers  outside  the  family  circle. 

And  the  talk  went  on.  Cyril  was  moody,  speaking  of 
Uncle  Derek  as  he  used  to  do  in  the  dim  and  almost  for- 
gotten past.  "  Who  dragged  that  old  ass  into  it  ?  Surely 
he  could  have  been  kept  out  of  it."  Mrs.  Gilmour  walked 
immense  distances  as  well  as  talking.  Emily  and  Lady 
Esther  offended  each  other  somehow  and  no  longer  could 
talk  comfortably  together.  Then,  quite  unexpectedly.  Sir 
Leonard  began  to  talk;  and  his  own  true  Emily  listening 
learnt  in  amazement  that,  without  consulting  her,  he  had 
gone  over  to  the  other  side. 

"  I'm  with  Uncle  Derek,"  said  Leonard  resolutely.  "  I 
think  it's  a  dashed  shame  not  to  back  up  Claire  in  every 
way  we  can." 

Meanwhile,  one  day.  Miss  Graham  rang  up  Mr.  Collie 
to  ask  him  how  he  had  got  on,  and  was  almost  driven  mad 
by  his  replies.  He  had  done  nothing  at  all.  No,  he  said, 
he  had  been  waiting  to  have  his  instructions  confirmed. 
He  had  understood  that  this  was  the  intention.  He  had 
quite  thought  that  Miss  Graham  and  Mrs.  Gilmour  were 
putting  their  heads  together,  thrashing  the  thing  out,  and 
so  forth,  and  that  he  was  not  to  move  in  the  matter  until 
he  heard  from  her  again. 

Miss  Graham  then  said  things  to  Mr.  Collie  on  the 
telephone  which  Claire  hoped  that  Mr.  Collie  would  not 
be  able  to  hear.  Yet  that  seemed  unlikely ;  because  every- 
body in  Hans  Place  could  have  heard  them. 

This  telephonic  conversation  and  Uncle  Derek's  un- 
flagging efforts  soon  bore  fruit  in  a  queer  assembly  at 
Mr.  Collie's  Gray's  Inn  office.  Here  Derek  personally  con- 
ducted Mrs.  Gilmour  for  the  purpose  of  meeting  Claire, 
Miss  Graham,  and  representatives  of  other  interests,  she 
having  promised  to  weigh  all  considerations  "  and  see  what 
could  be  done."     The  time  was  early  in  the  afternoon. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  327 

JKi  rallying-place  was  Mr.  Collie's  own  room — a  fine  big 
xoc  n  with  three  high  windows  and  deep  window-seats 
th'  'ein. 

<  'laire  sat  in  one  of  the  window-seats,  Miss  Graham  in 
ar  (  ther ;  Mr.  Collie,  Senior,  occupied  his  customary  seat 
at  his  large  writing-table;  a  leather  armchair  had  been 
pi'  ced  immediately  on  his  right  hand  for  the  accommo- 
dj  ion  of  Mrs.  Gilmour,  but  she  made  little  use  of  it; 
L?mard  Joyce,  possibly  in  some  dim  symbolism  of  his 
re  ( ently  gained  equestrian  rank,  sat  cross-legged  on  a 
cl  lir,  and  held  the  back  of  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  pulhng 
horse  that  wanted  to  get  away  with  him;  Uncle  Derek, 
Lidy  Esther,  and  Mr.  Collie,  Junior,  just  drifted,  resting 
tli3mselves  now  here  now  there,  then  floating  about  again 
as  the  debate  continued. 

Cyril  would  have  been  here,  but  he  was  required  in  the 
coastituency ;  so  he  had  sent  his  wife.  She  knew  his  views. 
Einily  fully  intended  to  come  until  she  heard  of  this 
arrangement;  it  was  a  deprivation  to  her  to  keep  away,  but 
she  had  not  yet  made  it  up  with  Lady  Esther. 

Old  Mr.  Collie  began  rather  garrulously,  perhaps  ren- 
idered  a  little  nervous  by  Mrs.  Gilmour's  severe  stare.  He 
said  that  they  had  never  had  a  divorce  suit  in  their  oiBce 
before,  and  but  for  the  merciful  fact  that  his  son  was 
row  restored  to  him  he  might  have  felt  doubts  whether  he 
v^as  competent  to  undertake  it.  Mercifully,  as  he  had  said, 
lis  son — his  son  over  there  by  the  fireplace — ^had  passed 
through  all  those  appalling  dangers,  and  escaped  and 
remained  alive. 

"  Let's  hope  he's  more  alive  than  his  father,"  murmured 
'  Vunt  Agnes,  but  so  gently  that  only  Claire,  in  the  next 
>nndow-seat,  caught  it. 

Then,  after  a  brooding  pause,  a  statuesque  silence  that 

:aade  everybody  uncomfortable,  Mrs.   Gilmour  rose  and 

liscoursed.     There  were  many  things  she  wished  to  say, 

nany  &he  wished  to  learn;  and  under  her  control  and 


328  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

stimulation  a  truly  remarkable  discussion  ensued.  It 
trended  more  and  more  towards  the  abstract  and  the 
academic,  leaving  the  concrete  case  of  Claire  further  and 
further  behind.  She  herself  sat  in  her  window  and  was 
the  only  one  who  took  no  part  in  the  talk.  But  from  time" 
to  time  when  speakers  lost  the  thread  of  their  arguments 
the}'^  abruptly  addressed  her,  as  if  turning  to  her  for  help 
either  to  pull  themselves  together  or  to  cover  their  con- 
fusion of  ideas. 

"  Does  Claire  really  want  to  proceed  with  her  action  ?  '^ 

"  Of  course  she  does,"  said  Miss  Graham,  answering  for 
her.     "  She  is  proceeding  with  it." 

"  Very  good.  Now  you  were  saying,  Uncle  Derek,  that 
the  most  thoughtful  people  agree  that  the  grounds  of 
divorce  should  be  made  equal  for  both  sexes." 

"  No,  it  was  I  who  said  that,  Joyce.  I  was  telling  you 
how,  out  in  the  trenches,  we  used  to  chat  over " 

"  Yes,  but  I  wanted  to  put  a  point  to  Mr.  Harp- 
ington." 

"  I  expect  you  discussesd  most  things  in  those  trenches, 
Dick.     Go  on,  Dick,  I  am  listening  to  you." 

"  Mr.  Collie,  you  knew  her  father.  Do  you  pretend 
that  if  he  had  been  with  us  he  would  have  moved  with  the 
times  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  is  no  consequence  to  a  family 
what  is  said  of  one  member  of  the  family?  Can  you  con- 
scientiously avow  that  the  disgrace  attaching  does  not 
spread " 

"  Where's  the  disgrace  of  an  innocent  person  getting 
rid—" 

"  I  don't  think  the  uvver  party  ever  escapes  the 
diswepute  frown  upon  her  by  the  guilty  party.  Cyril  and 
muwer  and  faver " 

"  Esther,  I  am  going  straight  on  to  see  your  father  when 
we  have  finished  here." 

B«t  would  they  ever  finish?  Suddenly,  to  the  surprise 
of  everyone,  Mrs.  Gilmour  announced  that  she  had  made  a 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  329 

;reat  advance  from  where  she  started.  So  far,  she  said, 
he  had  been  at  work  on  a  main  head.  This  head  might  be 
ummed  up  by  the  broad  question:  "  Is  divorce  ever  justifi- 
ible?  "  Well,  she  had  now  satisfied  herself  that  she  was 
dlling  to  answer  that  question  affirmatively. 

"  Bravo,"  said  old  Derek,  beaming  and  rubbing  his  hands 
is  if  it  was  all  over. 

But  Mrs.  Gilmour  passed  now  to  another  head ;  a  second 
question :  "  Is  it  feasible  ?  " 

"  What  the  dickens  do  you  mean  by  that?  '-  said  Leonard 
rather  rudely.  "  Do  you  mean  does  divorce  exist  .'^  Can 
people  in  England  get  divorced?  " 

"  No,  Leonard,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour  severely.  "  I  mean, 
is  it  feasible  in  Claire's  peculiar  position?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  Leonard.  I  shall  be  glad 
to  be  satisfied  that  it  is." 

Then,  this  head  disposed  of,  Mrs.  Gilmour  came  slowly 
to  her  biggest  and  most  businesslike  question.  Could  a 
divorce  be  obtained  for  Claire  without  the  mention  of  any 
names,  or  the  appearance  of  a  word  concerning  the  case 
in  the  newspapers  ? 

A  really  brisk  chat  ensued.  Both  the  Collies  took  a 
favourable  view.  They  said  that,  although  the  war  was 
over,  peace  had  not  been  signed,  and  the  newspapers,  still 
restricted  in  size,  were  crowded  with  public  news.  The 
pressure  on  their  space  was  enormous,  and  reports  of 
much  more  important  things  than  divorce  cases  had  to  be 
left  out.  Besides,  at  no  period  would  an  undefended  action 
of  this  character  have  attracted  notice.  Such  a  case 
slipped  through  the  courts  in  an  hour,  or  an  hour  and  a 
half,  quite  unobserved.  There  was  nothing  in  it  to  arouse 
curiosity  or  conjecture.  Its  name,  seen  previously  in  the 
list,  would  also  escape  attention  and  seem  quite  meaning- 
less. Why  should  anyone  give  a  thought  to  it — the  parties 
themselves    being    practically    unknown,    not    important 


330      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

personages,  not  prominent  members  of  society,  or  in  any 
way  illustrious? 

Mrs.  Gilmour  did  not,  however,  quite  like  that  part  of 
Mr.  Collie's  explanation,  and  he  had  to  take  it  back. 
The  Gilmour  family  did  not  occupy  such  an  ex- 
tremely small  place  in  the  world  as  those  solicitors  im- 
agined. 

Then  old  Derek  put  forward  the  idea  that,  to  make  as- 
surance doubly  sure,  it  might  be  just  as  well  to  "  square 
the  Press." 

Leonard  opined  that  this  would  be  dangerous,  if  not 
impossible,  and  the  younger  Collie  related  an  anecdote 
that  he  had  heard  in  the  trenches  about  a  managing  clerk, 
a  Press  man,  and  a  box  of  cigars. 

"  Ah,  but  that  method  was  too  direct,"  said  Uncle  Derek. 
*'  Diplomacy,  tact !  There  are  always  ways  of  getting 
round  things."  And  without  mentioning  names,  he  cited  a 
Tery  apposite  case,  in  which  he  had  been  largely  concerned. 
A  young  couple  had  to  be  taken  before  a  registrar  and 
married,  without  anyone  getting  wind  of  the  transaction. 
All  the  relatives  felt  a  morbid  dread  of  publicity.  Refer- 
ences in  the  papers  would  have  almost  killed  some  of  them. 
But  the  thing  was  got  through  without  a  whisper,  without 
a  soul  outside  the  family  ever  suspecting  that  it  had 
happened. 

"  Well,  how  did  you  contrive  on  that  occasion?  " 

"  I  did  nothing  at  all,"  said  old  Derek  simply.  "  It 
worked  out  just  as  you  hope  it  may  in  this  case.  Nobody 
appeared  to  take  any  notice." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Collie.  "  Nevertheless,  you  may 
rest  assured,  Mrs.  Gilmour,  that  we  will  not  run  any  risks 
or  neglect  any  precautions.  We  shall  leave  nothing  to 
chance.  My  son  will  see  to  that  side  of  it,  and  will  know 
how  to  deal  with  the  representatives  of  the  Press,  if  it 
seems  desirable  to  tell  them  that  mum's  the  word."  And  he 
added  in  a  whisper  that  Dick  had  his  head  well  screwed 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  331 

0  his  shoulders,  and  had  forgotten  none  of  the  tricks  of 
ti  e  trade  during  his  long  war  service. 

So  then,  finally,  Mrs.  Gilmour  said  that,  subject  to  her 

1  ?  oviso  of  absolute  silence,  she  was  prepared,  as  supreme 
].  ad  of  the  family  in  the  absence  of  her  sons  John  and 
(  jrril,  to  give  consent. 

At  this  moment  a  diversion  was  caused  by  the  entrance 
(>  a  boy  carrying  a  tray,  with  a  smoking  breakfast  cup 
«'  id  a  large  slice  of  cake.  It  was  Mr.  Collie's  afternoon 
i  i  a.  No  one  had  realized  how  time  was  passing,  and  all 
( :  :pressed  surprise.  Soon  they  left  Mr.  Collie,  Senior,  to 
1 1  s  tea,  and  went  down  the  carved  oak  staircase,  escorted 
by  Mr.  Collie,  Junior. 

But  the  die  had  been  csist.  Claire  was  to  be  allowed 
]iar  divorce. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

HER  family  had  now  completely  readopted  Claire, 
and  more  and  more  she  became  subject  to  their 
control.  Having  agreed  to  the  divorce,  they  could 
no  longer  allow  it  to  remain  altogether  in  Miss  Graham's 
hands.  It  belonged  to  all  of  them,  not  only  as  a  subject 
of  conversation,  but  as  a  real  family  game,  in  which  every 
move  must  be  closely  followed,  since  each  player  was 
playing  for  the  side,  and  all  were  equally  keen  to  win. 

The  first  move  in  the  game  was  for  Claire  to  establish 
the  fact  of  Roddy's  desertion.  And  to  do  this  satis- 
factorily she  must  apply  to  the  courts  for  an  "  order  for 
the  restitution  of  conjugal  rights."  Thus,  Claire,  like 
other  wives  in  her  unfortunate  position,  was  forced  to  lend 
herself  to  the  humiliating  chicanery  that  is  rendered  neces- 
sary by  the  existing  state  of  our  divorce  law  and  its  ad- 
ministration. Though  all  the  happiness  of  her  life  de- 
pended on  her  husband's  absence,  her  legal  advisers  com- 
pelled her  deliberately  to  give  the  false  impression  that  she 
desired  him  to  return ;  fully  satisfied  that  death  was  prefer- 
able to  ever  being  more  to  him  than  a  wife  in  name,  she 
had  to  beg  him  to  let  her  be  once  more  a  wife  in  fact. 

Her  reluctance  to  follow  these  unworthy  though  usual 
methods  became  revolt  when  she  was  called  upon,  as  a  pre- 
liminary, to  send  Roddy  a  letter  which  in  the  most  affecting 
terms  implored  him  to  grant  her  the  solace  of  renewed 
marital  relations. 

"  No,"  she  said  firmly ;  "  nothing  will  make  me  say 
that." 

"  Of  course,"   said  Leonard  Joyce,  "  any  expressions 

you  dislike  can  be  altered.    But  in  substance  we  all  thought 

it  such  a  good  letter." 

332 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  333 

"  Thundering  good  letter,"  said  young  Mr.  Collie,  with 
c  ithusiasm.  "  I  think  Eaton  has  done  it  splendidly.  It 
<  Dvera  the  ground  so  well." 

Leonard  had  brought  Claire  down  to  Messrs.  Collie's 
(  ffice  to  polish  off  this  preliminary  piece  of  business,  and 
1  hey  now  explained  to  her  that  counsel's  opinion  had  been 
(  btained  about  the  letter.  It  had,  in  fact,  been  drafted 
l»y  Mr.  Eaton,  one  of  the  cleverest  juniors  practising  in 
"  he  divorce  court. 

"  Let  me  read  it  to  you  again,"  said  Dick  Collie.  He 
vsis  keen  and  alert,  setting  about  things  in  good  style;  he 
lad  made  a  very  favourable  impression  upon  Leonard 
Joyce  as  really  wide  awake  and  not  rusty  from  all  that 
>oldiering.  As  he  read  aloud  now  he  threw  much  pathos 
into  certain  phrases,  either  unconsciously  or  trying  to  do 
them  full  justice.    This,  however,  added  to  Claire's  disgust. 

"  *  What  possible  grievance  can  you  nourish  against 
me?  '  "  read  Collie.  "  Puts  him  in  the  wrong  straight 
away.  ^  I  have  always  made  your  home  comfortable  for 
you,  and  am  only  wishful  to  do  it  again.'  Covering  the 
ground,  don't  you  see  ?  *  You  cannot  say  that  I  have  ever 
encouraged  the  attentions  of  other  gentlemen '  " 

"  I  should  say  '  men,'  "  interposed  Leonard.  "  I  think 
men  sounds  better  than  gentlemen.  Of  course,  you  can 
say  which  you  like,  Claire." 

"  I  won't  say  either,"  said  Claire. 

"  Let  me  go  on,"  said  Dick  Collie.  "  Then  you  can 
think  it  over.  ^  Oh,  my  husband ! '  " — he  read  this  with 
tremendous  feeling — "  '  Oh,  my  husband !  Come  back  to 
me '" 

"  Stop,"  said  Claire. 

They  had  a  hard  struggle  with  her ;  but  at  last  they  per- 
suaded her  that  the  law  being  what  it  is,  and  her  desire 
being  to  obtain  relief  under  the  law,  she  must  conform  to 
recognized  and  approved  procedure.  A  letter,  modified  in 
phraseology  but  unchanged  in  import,  was  eventually  con- 


334      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

<»cted;  and  they  made  her  write  it  out  in  her  own  hand 
before  they  would  let  her  go. 

But  young  Collie  said  that  since  she  had  proved  rather 
unmanageable  at  the  very  kick-off,  he  advised  Joyce  to  get 
her  in  hand,  and  begged  that  he  would  accompany  her  on 
all  the  future  occasions  when  they  wanted  her  at  the  office. 
Thus  Leonard,  as  active  ally  to  the  Collies  and  inter- 
mediary between  them  and  their  client,  came  into  the  case 
almost  as  completely  as  if  his  own  firm  were  managing  it. 

"  Quite  all  right,  my  dear  Claire,"  he  used  to  say  kindly. 
^'  You  trust  me.  I  thoroughly  appreciate  your  feelings 
about  these  formalities.  The  whole  thing  is  a  farce.  And 
it  is  degrading  to  have  to  submit  to  it  all.  But  don't  you 
worry  over  it.  I  promise  to  steer  you  straight  through. 
Take  my  advice,  and  dismiss  the  thing  from  your  mind — 
except  when  I  tell  you  there's  anything  to  do.  Go  on  with 
your  ordinary  life  as  if  nothing  was  happening.  Amuse 
yourself  with  Aunt  A.,  and  come  and  see  Emily  and  me 
as  often  as  you  will.  Amusement  will  do  you  good,  and 
you  know  Emily  is  nearly  always  in  spirits.  I  am  glad 
to  see  that  already  you're  looking  so  much  more  like  your- 
self. You  were  dreadfully  run  down,  weren't  you?  But 
now  you  are  picking  up  again,  aren't  you?  " 

He  was  very  kind  to  her,  and  she  felt  grateful  to  him 
for  all  the  trouble  he  was  taking.  She  submitted  herself  to 
his  directions  and  made  no  more  diflSculties. 

Time  then  glided  by,  and  in  due  course,  under  his  careful 
escort,  she  made  her  first  appearance  in  the  law  courts. 
Her  application  was  heard,  and  the  order  for  restitution 
of  conjugal  rights  was  made — an  order  that  Roddy  must 
obey  within  a  fortnight. 

Roddy,  for  his  part,  duly  disobeyed  the  order;  and, 
playing  the  game  after  the  manner  of  a  sportsman  and  a 
gentleman,  he  wrote  Claire  a  shockingly  curt  letter,  in 
which  he  stated  that  he  had  no  intention  of  returning  to 
hfir,  and  that  to  save  her  useless  trouble  he  might  as  well 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  335 

c  )nfess  that  he  had  passed  a  night  at  a  certain  named 
'  3tel  with  a  certain  unnamed  lady. 

"  Thafs  all  right,"  said  Leonard  Joyce,  with  great 
>  itisf action.  "  Now  we  have  got  him.  He  can't  play  the 
1  ool  with  us  now.  With  such  a  wily  bird  one  could  never 
1 3el  quite  comfortable,  but  now  the  salt  is  really  on  his 
lail." 

Then,  again  in  due  course,  Claire  filed  her  petition  for 
the  dissolution  of  her  marriage,  on  the  grounds  of  her 
husband's  desertion  and  adultery. 

It  would,  of  course,  be  a  long  time  before  the  case  came 

on  for  hearing,  but  everything  would  be  done  to  press  it 

orward;  and,  once  in  court,  as  an  undefended  action,  a 

judge  would  rattle  it  through  without  a  jury  before  you 

oould  look  round. 

So  far  the  game  had  been  played  without  attracting  the 
::aintest  public  interest.  Apparently  the  actual  pro- 
oeedings  had  been  nowhere  reported.  Mrs.  Gilmour^ 
scanning  illustrated  and  ordinary  newspapers  with  feverish 
anxiety,  could  not  see  a  name  mentioned — much  less  a 
snap-shot  picture  of  the  lady  who  wanted  her  conjugal 
rights.  Not  a  whisper  of  inquiry,  not  the  faintest  breath 
of  scandal,  disturbed  the  equanimity  of  Cyril  or  Lady 
Esther.  As  old  Derek  said,  rather  inaptly,  "  It  had  all 
gone  as  merrily  as  a  marriage  bell." 

Meanwhile,  Claire  herself  had  now  certainly  gained 
much  in  health,  and  she  was  helped  by  the  knowledge  that 
her  tardy  freedom  was  coming,  although  at  first  the  fact 
had  seemed  of  so  little  consequence.  Miss  Graham  was 
always  talking  about  it ;  telling  her  every  day,  in  a  dozen 
different  manners,  that  her  life  was  not  over,  that  she  was- 
still  young,  and  that  in  youth  one  must  never  cease  hoping^ 
She  also  weighed  upon  the  mental  effect  that  is  produced 
by  being  immune  from  any  possibility  of  interference  or 
restraint.  Unless  one  is  absolutely  one's  own  mistress, 
one  can  neither  help  oneself  nor  other  people.    Gradually, 


336      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

then,  with  slowly  returning  strength,  Claire  began  to  at- 
tach a  higher  value  to  the  emancipated  status  that  was  to 
be  given  to  her;  she  began  to  long  for  it,  to  count  the 
months  until  it  should  be  hers. 

It  was  not  that  as  yet  she  had  any  hope  of  real  happi- 
ness; but  already  she  was  able  to  look  forward  without 
flinching  to  the  quiet,  colourless  existence  that  alone  is 
possible  to  those  who  have  staked  and  lost  all  in  one  great 
love.  The  future  was  dull  and  blank  as  ever,  but  some 
painless,  calm  content  perhaps  might  still  be  hers.  She 
was  moved  by  what  Aunt  Agnes  said  alDOut  being  useful 
to  other  people,  and  also  by  her  hints  concerning  the  life 
of  the  mind.  If  by  study  she  could  improve  her  own  mind, 
and  in  a  very  humble^way  do  a  little  good  to  those  about 
her,  she  might  get  through  the  long  journey  till  this  dim 
light  changes  to  a  restful  darkness. 

She  worked  now  regularly  at  that  women's  league  of  her 
aunt's,  where  everybody  was  very  busy  in  demobilization. 
The  thousands  of  girls  that  these  kind  ladies  had  assisted 
when  they  were  going  into  the  Army  required  much  more 
assistance  now  that  they  were  coming  out  of  it.  There  was 
a  great  deal  to  do  on  the  spiritual  as  well  as  the  material 
side,  for  in  the  reaction  after  the  universal  strain,  a  new, 
strange  sort  of  rescue  work  became  increasingly  necessary. 
Claire,  working  harder  than  Miss  Graham  approved, 
seemed  without  effort  to  establish  an  influence  in  this 
direction  that  all  noticed. 

Among  old  friends  there  was  one  that  she  dreaded 
meeting.  With  deep  thankfulness  of  heart  she  had  learnt 
that  Basil  Everett  lived  to  see  the  glorious  end  of  the 
war;  she  owed  him  immense  gratitude  for  the  noble  in- 
tuition that  had  made  him  send  her  the  one  message  that 
had  power  to  give  her  consoling  thoughts  in  her  darkest 
hour ;  and  yet  her  memories  of  him  were  so  pitifuUy  woven 
with  memories  of  Gladys,  that  she  feared  even  the  sight 
of  his  face  or  the  sound  of  his  voice  as  almost  certain  to 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  337 

1  awaken  the  intolerable  anguish  of  the  night  of  her  child's 
il  ath  and  bring  back  something  of  the  distraction  and 
<j  <spair  that  followed  it.  But  she  was  ashamed  of  her  want 
<)  '  fortitude,  and  would  not  purposely  avoid  him. 

One  afternoon,  when  she  had  returned  from  the  League 
fices  earlier  than  her  usual  time.  Aunt  Agnes  ran  out 
:f  the  ground-floor  room  to  intercept  her  in  the 
han. 

"  Claire  dear,  Basil  is  with  me.  If  you  think  you  would 
rather  not  see  him " 

Claire  did  not  try  to  escape  from  what  chance  had 
(  rdained.  In  a  moment  her  fear  had  vanished.  Without  a 
thought,  instinctively,  she  went  into  the  room  with  Aunt 
Agnes;  and,  greeting  her  friend,  she  felt  nothing  of  the 
<listress  that  she  had  morbidly  dreaded.  She  had  for- 
^jotten  herself,  and  was  merely  glad  to  see  him. 

As  they  all  three  sat  talking  Aunt  Agnes  watched  the 
other  two,  and  according  to  her  custom,  made  swift  de- 
ductions from  what  she  observed.  In  Basil  Everett's  eyes, 
at  least,  Claire  was  what  she  had  always  been.  He  saw  no 
change  in  her ;  and  for  him  nothing  would  ever  change  her. 

Aunt  Agnes,  herself  talking  with  gentle  sprightliness, 
admired  and  loved  him  for  every  tone  of  his  voice,  every 
look  of  his  kind,  grave  eyes,  as  without  a  single  direct  or 
indirect  allusion  to  the  past,  he  seemed  to  be  able  to  make 
Claire  understand  both  his  sympathy  in  her  grief  and  his 
pleasure  at  being  with  her  again. 

After  this  he  came  to  the  house  whenever  he  was  in 
liOndon.  He  was  being  employed  on  interesting  and  im- 
portant tasks.  He  had  been  sent  on  errands  of  moment, 
into  the  heart  of  Germany,  to  Constantinople,  to  Finland ; 
and  he  had  much  to  tell  them  of  his  experiences.  Not  only 
Aunt  Agnes,  but  many  other  people,  said  that  great  things 
were  in  store  for  Basil.  Everybody  recognized  that  he 
was  a  marked  man;  he  would  have  a  dazzlingly  brilliant 
career. 


338  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  And  not  a  bit  spoilt  by  success,  is  he,  Claire?  " 

Certainly  he  was  modest.  In  his  long  talks  with  Claire 
they  dealt  nearly  always  with  immaterial  things — the 
characters  of  historical  personages  long  since  dead,  or  the 
thoughts  of  men  and  women  who  had  lived  only  within  the 
pages  of  books — and  although  Claire,  recognizing  the 
extent  of  his  reading  and  the  acuteness  of  his  critical 
faculty,  expressed  her  views  with  great  diffidence,  he  treated 
them  always  with  respect,  even  when  he  differed  from  them, 
and  sometimes  subordinated  his  judgment  to  hers.  More- 
over, when  they  spoke  of  material  affairs,  he  paid  her  the 
most  subtle  of  all  compliments  by  frankly  asking  for  and 
seeming  to  value  her  opinion.  In  a  matter  nearly  con- 
cerning himself  he  asked  once  for  her  advice.  He  told  her 
that  immediately  after  the  armistice,  colonial  friends  of 
his  had  urged  him  to  go  out  to  Australia  with  them,  and, 
abandoning  the  Foreign  Office,  take  up  the  rougher,  larger 
work  that  lies  on  the  fringes  of  our  Empire.  It  would  have 
been  commercial  rather  than  political  work,  and  after 
much  doubt  he  had  decided  to  stick  to  his  old  trade. 

Claire,  compelled  to  give  an  opinion,  said  she  thought 
he  had  decided  wisely. 

^'  You  think  so  ?  Better  fifty  years  in  Europe  than  a 
cycle — anywhere  else."  And  he  smiled.  "  But  the 
countries  of  to-morrow — and  the  day  after,  Mrs.  Vaughan  ? 
Great  work — if  one  could  do  it." 

He  had  a  car  of  his  own  now,  and  during  the  month  of 
July  he  took  them  for  some  long  country  drives.  There 
was  sadness  but  no  pain  to  Claire  in  revisiting  places  where 
they  had  been  with  him  a  year  ago :  the  memory  of  Gladys 
was  holding  them  together  instead  of  holding  them  apart. 
No  one  had  been  so  good  to  the  child  as  he. 

Thus  Claire's  friendship  with  him  was  renewed;  a 
trustful,  candid  intercourse,  as  pleasant  to  her  as  it  was 
comforting;  the  only  friendship  of  the  kind  that  she  had 
fever  known. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  339 

In  August  Miss  Graham  took  Claire  with  her  to 
Brighton,  and  they  stayed  at  a  corner  house  in  Schom- 
burg  Square.  It  was  a  lodging-house,  but  Miss  Graham 
bad  taken  the  whole  of  it ;  at  first  intending  to  invite  some 
of  the  more  friendless  of  her  League  girls  to  fill  un- 
occupied rooms,  and  then  abandoning  the  idea,  because, 
as  she  confessed,  she  did  not  feel  up  to  the  effort  of  enter- 
taining them.  She  was  very  tired,  and  she  needed  rest 
and  quiet. 

It  was  so  unlike  Aunt  Agnes  to  admit  as  much  as  this, 
that  Claire  felt,  if  not  alarmed,  a  little  anxious.  She 
watched  her  aunt  narrowly,  and  devoted  herself  to  her 
entirely,  keeping  her  amused  while  avoiding  all  fatigue. 
To  her  delight  she  saw  the  almost  instantaneously  good 
effect  of  the  strong  sea  air.  After  a  few  days  Aunt  Agnes 
seemed  to  have  recovered  all  her  habitual  energy  and  live- 
liness. She  enjoyed  the  gaiety  of  the  crowded  sea  front 
as  well  as  the  prettiness  of  the  inland  country;  she  was 
able  to  detect  the  weaknesses  and  make  quiet  fun  of  the 
pretensions  of  their  landlady  quite  in  her  old  style. 

The  landlady  was  a  faded  and  decayed  gentlewoman, 
who  highly  approved  of  Miss  Graham's  grand  way  of 
paying  for  more  accommodation  than  she  used,  in  order 
*'  to  keep  to  herself."  She  said,  "  How  well  I  know  your 
feeling !  One  must  keep  to  oneself.  But,  alas,  in  my  own 
case,  all  that  sort  of  thing  is  over  and  done  with ;  "  and  she 
showed  Miss  Graham  two  very  feeble  water-colour  sketches 
in  the  drawing-room,  that  pallidly  represented  a  church 
and  a  country  mansion  belonging  to  grandeurs  of  her  past. 
She  also  drew  attention  to  pieces  of  furniture  that  had 
known  her  when  she  was  a  girl  moving  in  the  best  county 
society.  "  That  book-case  downstairs  in  the  dining-room 
stood  in  Papa's  study  at  the  rectory ;  '*  and  she  pointed 
again  to  the  picture  of  the  church.  "  I  notice  that  Mrs. 
Vaughan  was  quick  to  examine  my  little  collection  of  books. 
I  was  like  her  once,  an  avid  reader ;  but  now  " — ^and  she 


340  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

gave  a  genteel  sigh — "  those  two  girls,  May  and  Alice, 
take  every  minute  of  my  day  looking  after  them.  I  hope 
that  so  far  you  have  had  no  cause  to  complain  of  the 
attendance.  I  beg  you  to  tell  me  if  it  is  not  what  you  are 
accustomed  to.     I  do  know  so  well." 

Aunt  Agnes  mildly  diverted  herself  too  with  the  maid- 
servants. May  and  Alice,  asking  them  how  they  reconciled 
it  with  their  consciences  to  spend  so  much  money  on  dress 
instead  of  saving  up  for  their  old  age,  in  case  they  never 
found  anyone  to  marry  them.  May  tossed  her  head  and 
answered  cheekily,  while  Alice  slyly  smiled  and  puckered 
her  apron  when  Miss  Graham  ventilated  this  horrible  sup- 
position. It  would  not  be  their  fault  if  such  a  fate  befell 
them;  for  on  alternate  evenings  each  went  out  dressed  in 
her  best,  either  to  prowl  with  old  admirers  or  hunt  for  new 
ones.  They  were  the  very  commonest  sort  of  girls,  al- 
though their  mistress  honestly  tried  to  teach  them  man- 
ners and  make  them  worthy  of  the  mob  caps  and  em- 
broidered aprons  that  she  herself  provided.  Claire  dis- 
liked May  a  little  more  than  Alice,  perhaps  only  because 
she  saw  more  of  her ;  but  ultimately  she  had  bitter  reason 
to  remember  both  of  them. 

Yet  in  spite  of  May's  occasionally  offensive  familiarity 
and  the  landlady's  genteel  meanness  and  incompetence. 
Aunt  Agnes  and  Claire  were  comfortable  enough.  Care- 
less of  what  they  eat,  not  minding  a  little  extra  trouble, 
the  nicest  sort  of  women  are  always  easy  to  satisfy; 
whereas,  on  the  other  hand,  the  very  nicest  and  noblest 
of  men  must  be  properly  fed  and  waited  on. 

Thus  Aunt  Agnes  naturally  struck  a  new  note  when 
announcing  that  she  expected  a  male  visitor  for  the  week- 
end. 

"Claire!  That  dear  fellow  Basil  is  coming  to  us  to- 
morrow. Won't  it  be  lovely  to  have  him  with  us?  I'll 
engage  the  car  from  Thomas,  so  that  we  can  take  him  for 
5ome  big  excursions." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  341 

And  at  once  she  began  a  pleasant  bustle  of  preparation ; 
i  which  Claire  gladly  joined.  They  debated  where  they 
s  lould  put  him.  There  was  a  large,  empty  bedroom  on 
t  le  ground-floor  behind  the  dining-room,  and  this  would  be 
c  )nvenient ;  but  they  decided  that  it  was  dark  and  dingy. 
"  'here  was  nothing  on  the  drawing-room  floor  for  him, 
t  ecause  the  three  bedrooms  there  were  already  swamped 
}  y  themselves  and  Miss  Graham's  own  maid.  Claire  at  this 
])oint  oifered  to  vacate  her  own  room  for  him  and  move 
1o  the  floor  above;  but  Miss  Graham  would  not  hear  of 
:  t,  and  on  reflection  they  both  agreed  that  he  was  so  active 
hat  he  would  not  in  the  least  mind  mounting  as  high  as 
:he  second-floor.  They  went  straight  up  to  the  second- 
loor  bedroom  and  decided  that  he  would  be  quite  happy 
there;  quiet  and  undisturbed  too,  with  only  the  landlady 
for  neighbour,  and  the  house-servants  all  above  him  on 
the  top  floor.  He  was  not  bringing  a  servant,  but  Miss 
Graham's  maid  declared  herself  well  able  to  valet  him. 

"  And  we'll  put  some  flowers  in  his  room,  Claire.  Yes, 
he  has  a  glimpse  of  the  sea  from  this  window.  And,  don't 
forget,  Claire,  we  must  tell  that  old  humbug  not  to  play 
her  trick  with  the  electric  light." 

The  landlady's  trick  with  the  electric  light — a  well- 
known  pleasantry  of  landladies~-was  to  switch  it  off  at 
the  meter  at  eleven  p.m.  There  was  gas  instead  of  electric 
light  on  the  stairs,  and  sometimes  she  turned  that  off  too. 

"  We  shall  have  to  get  in  some  wine,  of  course.  And, 
Claire,  you  and  I  must  do  a  little  regular  marketing  to- 
morrow morning.    If  you  think  of  things,  tell  me." 

So  all  that  day  and  the  morning  of  the  next  day  passed 
in  cheerful  occupations.  Claire  herself  arranged  the 
flowers  on  the  visitor's  dressing-table  and  superintended 
May  in  a  final  tidying  of  the  whole  room.  She  was  no 
less  anxious  than  her  aunt  to  do  him  honour;  she  felt  a 
calm  elation  as  she  thought  of  how  his  presence  would 
brighten  all  the  house  for  them ;  and  it  was  with  an  active, 


342      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

lively  pleasure  that  she  looked  forward  to  the  long  excur- 
sions of  which  Miss  Graham  had  spoken.  The  weather 
was  gloriously  fine. 

He  arrived  soon  after  luncheon,  and  that  first  afternoon 
was  perfect.  The  hireling  car  carried  them  over  the  downs 
into  pretty,  secluded  valleys,  by  the  side  of  slow  streams 
and  under  hanging  woods;  they  had  tea  in  a  farmhouse 
garden,  and  when  they  got  back  to  Brighton  Miss  Graham 
insisted  on  their  leaving  the  car  and  walking  home  over 
the  broad  lawns  of  Hove,  and  through  the  closest  pressure 
of  the  holiday  crowd.  She  was  as  gay  and  light-hearted 
as  a  girl  of  twenty,  and  the  innocent  happiness  of  the 
kind  old  soul  communicated  itself  to  her  two  younger  com- 
panions. 

Basil  Everett  praised  the  house,  praised  the  cooking, 
praised  everything.  Upstairs  in  the  drawing-room,  after 
dinner,  he  said  that  the  view  from  the  balcony  was  as 
beautiful  as  anything  you  could  see  on  the  Bosphorus. 

"  What  rubbish !  *'  said  Miss  Graham,  laughing.  "  Of 
course  you  don't  mean  it." 

"  Of  course  I  don't,"  said  Basil,  laughing  too.  "  I'm 
only  trying  to  be  complimentary,  and  allowing  for  the 
glamour  of  night.  Really  and  truly,  as  soon  as  Brighton 
becomes  invisible,  it's  as  beautiful  as  any  other  place  that's 
hidden  by  darkness.  Come  and  see  for  yourself,  Mrs. 
Vaughan." 

He  was  standing  by  the  open  window,  looking  very  tall 
as  he  leaned  against  the  landlady's  cretonne  curtains, 
the  lamplight  on  his  thin,  sunburnt  face,  and  the  darkness 
behind  him  seeming  like  another  curtain,  of  black  velvet. 
Miss  Graham  sat  smiling  at  him,  admiring  him,  thinking 
that  he  was  like  a  splendid  picture  by  Van  Dyk.  Claire 
went  across  to  him,  and  they  stood  for  a  few  moments  side 
by  side,  looking  down  at  the  shrubs  and  trees  in  the  garden 
of  the  square,  the  lighted  windows  of  other  lodging  houses, 
and  the  bright  lamps  of  the  King's  Road.     In  truth,  the 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  843 

■^  g  amour  of  night  lay  over  all  these  common  things.  After 
1^  tl  e  long,  hot  day  a  faint,  sweet  breeze  came  creeping  in- 
^  h  id  from  the  sea,  and  one  heard  its  murmuring  voice 
I    v/  )en  one  listened  in  silence. 

'i  "  I  think  you  are  too  severe  on  Brighton,"  said  Claire. 
'    *'  Especially  after  all  we  showed  you  this  afternoon." 

The  short  evening  passed  too  quickly.  They  tried  to 
1  ake  him  talk  about  himself;  and  although  he  would  not 
fl )  that,  he  talked  delightfully  on  all  other  subjects.  At 
L  ilf-past  ten  the  ladies  withdrew.  Miss  Graham  rose  with 
1-  regretful  sigh,  and  said  she  would  like  to  sit  chatting 
Hie  that  all  night,  but  as  she  wanted  to  be  in  good  form 
to-morrow  she  had  better  go  to  bed. 

"  Besides,  he  has  had  more  than  enough  of  us,  Claire. 
>ro  doubt  he  is  dying  to  go  and  smoke.  Oh,  Claire,  we 
liive  forgotten  to  get  him  any  cigars." 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Basil  Everett,  smiling. 

"Why?" 

"  First,  because  cigars  bought  by  ladies  are  apt  to  be 
<langerous;  and  secondly,  because  I  don't  smoke  cigars  at 
all." 

"  He  has  none  of  the  vices,  Claire,  and  every  one  of  the 
virtues,"  said  Miss  Graham  fondly.  "  Good-night,  dear 
Basil ; "  and  she  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  afFection- 
itely.  "  Thank  you  for  having  pity  on  two  poor  lonely 
^vomen." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Basil,  ^'  for  having  pity  on  one 
poor  lonely  man." 

"  Good-night.     Sleep  well." 

"  Of  course  I  shall.  The  perfume  of  those  lovely  flowers 
wiU  make  me  dream  that  I  am  sleeping  in  a  Persian 
garden." 

Claire,  alone  presently,  had  the  echo  of  these  words  ia 
ber  ears.  What  a  pretty  thing  to  have  said !  A  Persian 
garden — that  meant  a  garden  of  roses.  She  was  glad  that 
she  bought  those  big  roses  for  him,  and  not  anything  else. 


34*  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Walking  about  her  room  instead  of  at  once  going  to  bed, 
she  thought  of  other  things  that  he  had  said.  How 
charming  he  was  with  Aunt  Agnes;  so  exactly  catching 
her  humour;  talking  to  her  chaffingly,  and  yet  with  a 
manner  that  was  both  protective  and  deferential.  Aunt 
Agnes  adored  him,  of  course.  Claire  sat  in  front  of  her 
dressing-table  and  mused  on  the  afternoon's  drive.  She 
had  enjoyed  every  minute  of  it;  she  had  been  as  happy  as 
she  could  ever  be.  Any  greater  sense  of  peace  would  seem 
a  treachery  to  Gladys.  But  now,  after  the  quiet  contented 
hours,  she  began  to  feel  restless.  It  would  be  a  long  while 
before  she  slept  to-night ;  and  looking  round  for  her  book, 
she  thought  she  had  better  go  downstairs  and  fetch  an- 
other gem  from  the  collection  of  the  landlady.  There 
were  three  or  four  of  the  Waverley  novels  on  the  bottom 
shelf  of  that  book-case. 

She  went  down  into  the  dining-room  and  turned  on  the 
electric  light ;  and  the  next  instant  it  went  out  again.  It 
was  the  landlady's  trick.  After  all,  they  had  not  warned 
her,  and  punctual  to  her  usual  hour  she  had  doomed  the 
sitting-room  to  darkness.  Claire,  groping  her  way  to  the 
book-case,  felt  annoyed,  because  the  visitor  might  have 
wanted  to  use  the  room.  A  bump  into  the  end  of  the  sofa 
told  her  she  had  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  book-case,  and 
she  went  upon  her  knees  to  feel  for  the  volumes  on  the 
bottom  shelf.  A  faint  illumination  from  the  street  lamp 
outside  the  window  crept  into  the  room  to  help  her. 

Then  somebody  else  came  gropingly  through  the  door- 
way, and  Basil  Everett's  voice  sounded.  He  had  been  for 
a  stroll  to  the  beach. 

"Who  is  it.?"  he  asked. 

"It  is  I!" 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Vaughan !  Why  in  the  dark.^  Let  me  turn 
on  the  light  for  you." 

Claire  explained  that  this  was  impossible. 

"  Then  I'll  get  my  torch.    I  left  it  in  the  hall."    And  he 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  34S 

ame  back  with  one  of  those  long  electric  torches  that  are 
;  ke  small  truncheons,  and  flashed  its  strong  light.  Claire 
ound  her  book,  and  for  a  little  while  they  stood  talking; 
le  telling  her  how  he  had  this  particular  torch  with  him 
Q  the  war,  and  used  it  as  he  walked  along  the  trenches  on 
lis  nightly  round.     He  asked  her  to  keep  the  torch. 

"  Oh,  you  are  too  kind.    But  I  mustn't  really." 

"  Do,  to  please  me ;  "  and  he  flashed  it  and  put  it  into 
^ler  hand. 

Claire  accepted  the  gift,  and  they  lingered  talking  for 
another  few  moments. 

Then  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  After  the  custom 
of  lodging-house  servants,  both  May  and  Alice  were  punc- 
tilious in  knocking  at  the  doors  of  the  sitting-rooms  before 
mtering  them;  and  the  knocker  now  was  the  girl  Alice, 
who  had  returned  from  her  evening  out,  and  in  the  low 
gas  light  from  the  hall  showed  a  silhouette  of  fashionable 
walking  costume.  She  apologized  for  disturbing  the  occu- 
pants of  the  room. 

"  I  fancied  I  heard  voices,  but  wasn't  sure,  ma'am." 

Claire  said  that  Alice  had  not  disturbed  them,  and  told 
her  to  ask  her  mistress  not  to  switch  off  the  current  to- 
morrow night. 

Upstairs  in  her  room  again,  Claire  stood  looking  at  the 
torch  as  it  lay  upon  her  dressing-table,  with  tender 
thoughts  for  the  man  who  had  used  it,  and  a  determina- 
tion that  as  long  as  she  lived  she  would  never  part  with  it* 

Next  day  opened  brightly  and  happily,  and  for  the 
better  part  of  it  all  was  well ;  but  it  closed  in  sadness. 

Miss  Graham  was  full  of  energy,  and  while  Claire  went 
to  church,  took  a  walk  with  Basil  along  the  sea  front. 
After  luncheon  they  all  three  went  for  a  lengthy  jaunt 
in  the  car,  had  another  wayside  tea,  examined  a  ruin,  and 
clambered  up  a  rough  footpath  to  enjoy  a  famous  view 
across  the  weald  of  Sussex.     Then  quite  late,  when  they 


B46  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  m^ 

were  spinning  homeward  on  the  London  Road,  Claire  no- 
ticed her  aunt's  pallor  and  breathlessness.  Borne  up  by 
her  indomitable  spirit,  the  brave  old  soul  had  done  more 
than  her  physical  state  warranted.  But  even  then  she 
.would  not  confess  that  she  felt  ill. 

In  the  hall  at  Schomburg  Square  she  fainted.  She  re- 
covered consciousness  very  quickly,  and  leaning  on  Basil 
Everett's  arm,  went  up  to  her  room.  She  said  she  would 
rest  for  half  an  hour  and  then  be  all  right  for  dinner. 
But  Claire  was  alarmed  now,  as  one  is  always  at  an 
unmistakable  sign  of  weakness  in  a  person  who  has  been 
notoriously  strong.  Never  in  the  history  of  the  family 
had  Aunt  Agnes  been  known  to  have  a  day's  real  illness. 

They  sent  for  a  doctor ;  and  the  doctor  proved  reassur- 
ing. He  said  he  anticipated  no  serious  trouble;  the  old 
lady  had  exhausted  herself,  and  that  was  all.  However, 
one  could  not  be  too  careful  in  dealing  with  people  of  ad- 
vanced age.  Miss  Graham  must  therefore  go  to  bed  and 
remain  there  for  a  day  or  two,  and  he  thought  it  would 
be  advisable  to  have  a  nurse.  If  possible,  he  would  get 
one  at  once  to  keep  watch  during  the  night.  He  could 
not  absolutely  promise  to  find  a  nurse,  because  they  were 
both  scarce  and  over-worked,  but  he  would  do  his  best; 
and  he  added,  with  considerable  wisdom,  that  the  advan- 
tage of  having  a  nurse  would  be  to  let  Miss  Graham's 
own  maid  get  her  proper  night's  rest  so  that  she  might 
be  fresh  and  active  for  the  more  important  work  of  at- 
tending to  her  mistress  during  the  day. 

"  But  I  can  sit  up  with  my  aunt,"  said  Claire. 

"  I  think  the  same  applies  to  you,"  said  the  doctor, 
good-humouredly.  "  Your  aunt  will  want  you  more  in  the 
daytime." 

About  an  hour  after  his  departure  the  nurse  arrived — 
**  straight  from  the  end  of  another  case,"  as  she  announced 
at  once. 

"This  a  night- job  too!     Just  like  my  luck;"  and  she 


^  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  34T 

t  )ld  them  she  was  regularly  worked  to  death ;  expected  to 
c  3  without  food  or  sleep  either,  and  to  keep  going  all  the 
t  me  like  an  eight-day  clock  rather  than  a  creature  of  flesh 
£  nd  blood.  "  Heart  trouble,  isn't  it  ?  And  an  elderly  pa- 
i  lent?  Well,  just  let  me  have  a  peep  into  the  sick  room, 
^  3  as  I  can  get  my  bearings ;  then  I'll  set  my  traps  ship- 
siape,  and  be  ready  for  you.  I  suppose  you  can  do  me 
£   bit  of  supper?  " 

She  made  a  very  unfavourable  impression  on  Claire. 
She  was  a  woman  of  about  forty  who  seemed  naturally 
capable  and  business  like  enough,  but  a  stupid,  muddled 
bok  came  into  her  face  every  now  and  then  while  she 
egotistically  chattered  about  the  hard  work  at  the  hospital; 
i.nd  presently  Claire  felt  a  suspicion  that  she  had  been 
drinking  and  was  still  under  the  influence  of  alcohol. 
Agitated  by  this  horrid  thought,  Claire  got  Basil  Everett 
i  o  come  up  to  the  first  floor  landing  and  have  a  little  talk 
with  the  nurse  without  allowing  her  to  guess  that  she  was 
being  critically  examined.  This  he  did  in  Claire's  presence ; 
and  he  was  able  unhesitatingly  to  banish  the  ugly  suspi- 
cion. The  woman  was  absolutely  sober,  but  very  tired. 
And  he  sensibly  suggested  that  she  should  be  given  some 
food  and  then  be  allowed  to  lie  down  for  an  hour  or  two 
before  she  relieved  Miss  Graham's  maid. 

"  That's  a  nice  considerate  gentleman,"  said  the  nurse, 
going  off  to  her  supper;  and  when  she  reappeared,  to  go 
on  duty  a  little  before  eleven  o'clock,  she  looked  neat,  trim, 
quietly  efficient — all  that  a  nurse  should  be. 

Meanwhile  Aunt  Agnes  was  obviously  going  on  well. 
There  was  no  more  breathlessness ;  she  said  she  was  quite 
comfortable,  and  she  looked  quite  comfortable.  But  it  was 
touching  to  observe  her  unselfish  wish  that  the  comfort 
of  others  should  not  be  interfered  with,  and  her  contrition 
at  having  caused  trouble. 

"  I  am  so  dreadfully  ashamed  of  myself,  Claire.  This 
sort  of  thing  is  out  of  my  line.     I  don't  do  such  things, 


348  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

do  I?  But  now  you  must  prevent  everything  being  spoilt 
for  Basil.  Do  go  down  and  see  that  he  has  his  dinner 
properly.  It  is  very  late.  And  take  him  for  a  walk  after- 
wards. It  is  such  a  lovely  night.  Please — please  do  as 
I  ask.    I  can't  bear  to  spoil  things." 

But  of  course  all  things  were  spoilt.  Her  insistence  was 
so  strong  that  Claire,  very  much  against  her  own  in- 
clination, left  her  once  more  after  their  hurried  meal.  For 
perhaps  twenty  minutes  she  and  Basil  walked  round  and 
round  the  square,  in  sight  of  the  house  all  the  time,  and  all 
the  time  talking  of  Aunt  Agnes. 

^  After  the  nurse  had  assumed  charge  of  Miss  Graham's 
room,  Claire  still  sat  there  for  a  little  while.  Aunt  Agnes 
was  asleep,  breathing  easily,  showing  no  sign  of  discomfort. 
The  nurse  whispered,  **  She'll  do  nicely  now." 

Then  at  last  Claire  left  her ;  but  half  an  hour  later  love 
drew  her  back  to  the  room.  She  could  not  herself  go  to 
bed  and  sleep  soundly  until  she  had  made  sure  that  all 
was  still  going  well.  So  she  slipped  on  her  dressing-gown, 
armed  herself  with  her  torch,  and  went  out  into  the  passage. 

She  listened  at  the  door,  then  softly  opened  it  and  went 
into  the  room.  Aunt  Agnes  had  not  changed  her  position. 
In  the  faint  illumination  from  a  night  light  that  the  nurse 
had  set  upon  the  mantleshelf,  Claire  saw  the  pale  outline 
of  the  face  against  the  pillow  just  as  it  had  been,  and 
stooping  over  the  bed  she  listened  to  the  breathing.  It  was 
easy  and  regular.  Aunt  Agnes  was  sleeping  like  a  weary 
child. 

But  Aunt  Agnes  was  not  the  only  person  asleep  in  the 
room,  as  Claire  soon  discovered.  There  was  a  sofa  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  and  on  this  the  nurse  had  subsided  into 
deep  and  unconcerned  slumber. 

Claire,  felt  a  glow  of  indignation  at  this  breach  of  trust, 
and  was  about  to  put  her  hand  upon  the  woman's  shoulder 
to  rouse  her  when  a  gentler  thought  checked  the  impulse. 
After  all,  it  was  a  crime  of  nature — probably  not  even 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  349 

]:  'emeditated  by  the  woman  herself.  The  poor  over-driven 
".^  retch  was  dead  tired,  as  Basil  Everett  had  seen  at  a 
^  ance ;  not  a  piece  of  mechanism  but  a  thing  of  mere  flesh 
a  id  blood,  as  she  herself  had  said.  So  Claire's  feeling 
c  langed  from  instinctive  anger  to  reasoned  pity,  and  she 
t  lought,  "  Let  her  sleep  for  a  little  while  and  I  will  watch 
f  )r  her  while  she  sleeps.'* 

Then  Claire  went  to  the  window  and  sat  there,  glancing 
from  moment  to  moment  at  the  motionless  figure  on  the 
led  and  thinking,  while  the  nurse  heavily  slept  on.  After 
she  had  been  there  a  little  time,  she  fancied  that  she  heard 
riovements  or  footsteps  outside  on  the  landing,  and  she 
T'ent  softly  to  the  door  and  listened.  But  all  became  silent 
a  gain,  and  she  went  back  to  her  seat  by  the  window. 

There  had  in  truth  been  somebody  passing  to  and  fro 
C'Utside  the  door.  To-day  it  was  the  evening  out  of  the 
other  girl.  May ;  and  May,  very  grandly  attired,  had  pro- 
longed her  evening  to  a  late  hour.  She  had  come  up  the 
stairs  with  a  lighted  candle  in  her  hand,  had  noticed  that 
the  door  of  Claire's  room  was  ajar;  then,  after  going  on 
tip-toe  up  and  down  the  passage  and  looking  into  the 
drawing-room,  she  did  a  curiously  impertinent  thing.  She 
went  tip-toeing  into  Claire's  room,  and  pryed  all  round 
and  about  it.  Then  still  on  tip-toe,  with  her  large  fashion- 
able hat  casting  monstrous  shadows  in  the  candle  light, 
she  went  upstairs  to  the  top  floor  and  her  own  quarters. 

Claire  sat  by  the  window  thinking.  Hour  after  hour 
passed  and  neither  of  the  sleepers  awakened.  The  nurse 
changed  her  attitude;  with  a  somnolent  groan  subsided 
still  further,  and  lay  stretched  at  full  length  in  the  almost 
deathlike  unconsciousness  of  supreme  fatigue.  The  patient 
stirred  now  and  then,  sighed  faintly  once  or  twice,  but  never 
moved  to  a  different  posture. 

The  summer  night  was  as  warm  as  the  daytime ;  through 
the  open  windows  the  rhythmic  murmur  of  the  sea  came 
soft  and  low,  a  vibration  filling  all  the  silence  of  the  room ; 


350  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

and  Claire's  vigil  lasted  till  long  after  the  shadows  had 
slowly  crept  away  and  the  cold  morning  light  had  turned 
to  golden  fire. 

And  throughout  the  darkness  and  the  dawn  her  heart 
was  heavy  with  a  burden  of  sadness — the  sadness  of  life 
itself;  vaster  than  the  sea,  more  invincible  than  the  tides, 
more  overwhelming,  each  time  that  one  really  thinks  of 
it,  than  the  inconceivable  distances  that  lie  between  us  and 
the  further  stars.  "  Only  this  one  little  life,  Claire !  "  An 
arrow  of  light  darting  into  a  dark  place — like  these  rays 
at  the  side  of  the  window  blinds — spreading  into  coloured 
radiance,  swiftly  fading;  and  then  again  the  darkness! 

When  Claire  returned  to  the  room  at  breakfast  time 
Aunt  Agnes  welcomed  her  with  the  good  news  that  she  felt 
quite  well  again.  The  nurse  for  her  part  announced  that 
Miss  had  passed  an  excellent  night. 

"  She  slept  like  a  top,"  said  the  nurse  cheerfully.  "  I 
kept  waiting  for  her  to  wake  up,  so  as  I  could  give  her 
her  medicine;  but  as  she  didn't,  I  wouldn't  disturb  her." 

Claire  looked  at  the  woman  coldly  and  critically,  feeling 
a  contempt  for  her  now.  She  might  be  excused  for  the 
failure  in  her  duty,  but  there  was  no  excuse  for  trying  to 
conceal  it  with  such  effrontery ;  and  Claire  at  once  deter- 
mined that  they  would  get  rid  of  her.  She  was  a  person 
that  they  could  not  safely  trust. 

The  nurse,  however,  was  dismissed  for  other  reasons 
before  the  morning  was  over.  Much  to  Claire's  surprise 
the  doctor  announced  after  a  little  private  conversation 
with  his  patient  that  Aunt  Agnes  was  keenly  desirous  of 
returning  to  London  that  very  day,  and  he  saw  no  reason 
why  she  should  not  safely  take  the  journey.  He  said  she 
seemed  to  have  the  idea  that  she  would  be  safer  in  her  own 
house  than  anywhere  else,  and  he  advised  Claire  not  to 
oppose  her  wish. 

"  It  would  be  easy  to  me  to  keep  her  here  and  make  a 
case  of  it,"   said   the  doctor,   good-humouredly.     "  But 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  351 

tones tly  I  don't  feel  justified  in  detaining  her,  since  she 
.ppears  to  be  so  set  on  getting  home." 
Aunt  Agnes  herself  apologized  for  her  whim. 
"  Claire,  I'm  a  selfish  wretch  to  cut  short  your  hoHday* 
it's  a  sort  of  superstitious  feeling  that  makes  me  do  it. 
Vfter  my  stupid  behaviour  of  yesterday  I  shouldn't  feel 
comfortable  here.     You  know,  I  don't  for  a  moment  think 
;'m  going  to  begin  that  sort  of  thing  again;  but  if  by 
iny  chance  I  should  be  in  for  some  sort  of  illness,  well, 
:here's  no  place  like  home.    And  what  really  decides  me  is 
laving  Basil  here  to  manage  the  journey  and  take  care 
>fus." 

So  packing  was  at  once  begun,  and  in  the  afternoon  they 
travelled  back  to  London  without  any  mishap.  Miss 
Graham  seemed  quite  herself  again  as  she  trotted  about 
the  familiar  rooms  in  Hans  Place.  Basil  Everett  came 
back  to  the  house  for  dinner,  and  they  had  another  pleasant 
peaceful  evening. 

Aunt  Agnes  was  all  right  for  a  week,  for  ten  days,  and 
then  she  had  another  fit  of  breathlessness.  She  did  not 
faint  on  this  occasion,  and  she  recovered  as  quickly  as 
before.  But  her  London  doctor  said  she  must  be  kept  very 
quiet.  He  said  that  for  a  long  time  she  had 
been  doing  too  much;  now  she  must  really  give  herself  a 
chance. 

There  was  no  further  attack,  and  as  time  passed, 
Claire's  anxiety  became  less  and  less.  She  devoted  herself 
altogether  to  her  aunt,  letting  the  League  work  get  on 
without  her  aid.  The  bond  between  them  had  become  very 
close,  and  the  tenderness  and  love  that  Claire  showed  in 
every  word  and  act  were  instinctive  and  not  merely  the 
conscientious  payment  ordained  by  gratitude. 

As  they  sat  together  of  an  evening,  Miss  Graham  talked 
often  of  the  future ;  not  only  of  time  near  at  hand,  but  of 
long  pleasant  years  to  come. 


362  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  If  only  this  divorce  business  would  move  a  little  faster, 
Claire  !'* 

And  she  said  that  the  dreadful  slowness  of  the  Collies, 
of  Leonard  Joyce,  and  of  everybody  else,  was  more  than 
irritating,  it  was  maddening.  They  had  promised  to  do 
wonders  in  expediting  matters,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that 
they  had  not  succeeded  in  doing  anything  at  all.  They 
had  assured  her  that,  at  the  worst,  the  case  would  come  on 
for  hearing  in  this  next  term,  and  now  they  began 
to  say  that  because  of  the  congestion  of  the 
courts  it  might  be  still  further  delayed  to  the  following 
term. 

"  That  would  mean  not  till  after  Christmas,  Claire — ^not 
till  next  year.  And  after  you  get  your  decree  it  will  be 
another  six  months  before  you  are  really  free.  Is  it  not 
sickening?  You  are  much  more  philosophical  than  I  am, 
Claire.     The  delay  Worries  me  fearfully." 

Claire  said  she  longed  to  have  the  case  over  and  done 
with,  but  she  supposed  that  they  must  be  patient,  and  that 
Mr.  Collie  and  the  others  were  doing  all  that  lay  in  their 
power. 

Then  one  evening.  Miss  Graham  spoke  of  Claire's  using 
her  freedom  some  day  and  marrying  again. 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  do  that,"  said  Claire. 

^^  Why  not  ?     Of  course  you'll  do  it." 

Then  Claire  spoke  of  her  position  after  the  divorce, 
asking  her  aunt  many  questions.  What  would  the  world 
say  of  her  and  think  of  her?  Her  own  real  friends 
would  know  the  truth ;  but  to  everybody  else  would  she  not 
be  a  woman  under  a  stigma — the  sort  of  person  for  whom 
one  feels  a  half  contemptuous  pity  and  with  whom  one 
carefully  avoids  friendship  and  intimacy  ?  In  the  beginning 
Esther,  Emily,  everybody  had  warned  her  of  the  disrepute, 
if  not  the  actual  disgrace,  that  attaches  to  a  divorced  wife, 
whether  innocent  or  guilty;  and  it  must  be  true,  or  they 
could  not  all  of  them  have  said  the  same  thing.     How 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  853 

I  len  could  she  ever  think  of  involving  anyone  else  in  her 
1  )wered  prestige? 

But  Aunt  Agnes  strenuously  endeavoured  to  persuade 
1  er  that  all  such  ideas  had  long  since  died  out.  Besides, 
:  a  a  case  hke  this,  put  through  without  publicity,  in  these 
t  till  stirring  times,  the  cruel  old  prejudices,  even  if  existent, 
<  ould  never  touch  her.  The  man  who  married  her  would 
never  suffer  under  the  world's  attitude  towards  his  wife. 
* '  No  one  will  know  or  care  whether  you  were  married  before 
)r  not.  If  they  hear  you  had  another  husband,  they  will 
:ake  it  for  granted  that  he  was  killed  in  the  war — as  he 
yaght  to  have  been,  and  as  I  only  wish  he  had  been.'' 

And  almost  immediately  Aunt  Agnes  went  on  to  speak 
Df  Basil  Everett. 

"  Aunt  Agnes,  please,  please  don't  say  these  things." 

But  Aunt  Agnes  would  not  stop;  she  continued  with 
gentle  determination. 

"  Claire,  I  can't  hide  my  great  wish.  Before  I  die  I  want 
to  see  you  two  happily  married.  You  can  trust  hmiy 
Claire.  I  know  that  he  will  make  up  to  you  for  all  that 
you  have  gone  through.  Claire  dear,  he  loves  you  with 
such  a  pure  and  noble  love." 

"  Aunt  Agnes,  stop.  It  is  wrong  for  me  even  to  listen 
to  you.  But,  believe  me — on  my  word  of  honour — he  has 
never  said  anything  to  hint  at  more  than  the  simplest 
friendship." 

"  Oh,  Claire !  You  are  not  blind.  Anyhow,  I  know." 
And  she  told  Claire  how  Basil  had  admired  her  as  an  un- 
married girl,  and  how  she  herself  had  hoped  that  they 
would  become  engaged.  "  It  would  have  been  all  so  easy 
and  natural — if  only  you  and  he  had  been  given  a  chance. 
But  then  that  monster  came  upon  the  scene,  and  that 
drivelling  old  man's  persecution  and  the  imbecility  of  your 
mother  drove  you  into  his  arms.  So  dear  Basil  lost  you. 
Now  I'm  not  pretending  that  he  went  away  broken- 
hearted and  thought  of  nothing  but  you  year  after  year. 


364  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

No,  not  a  bit.  But  he  did  remember  you,  Claire — so  well, 
that  when  he  saw  you  again  the  old  feeling  revived  and 
became  a  thousand  times  stronger.  You're  the  only  woman 
in  the  world  for  him." 

And  again  Claire  begged  her  aunt  to  say  no  more. 

"  All  right,  dear.  But  you  may  trust  me.  Of  course 
he  cannot  in  honour  tell  you  now.  But  the  day  the  decree 
nisi  is  made  absolute  Basil  will  claim  your  hand;  and  if 
you  refuse  him  you  will  make  me  a  very  unhappy  old 


Was  it  true  that  he  loved  her  in  this  way?  In  those 
bright  September  days  during  which  her  aunt  remained 
well  and  full  of  hope,  Claire  gave  herself  for  a  little  while 
to  the  dream  of  future  happiness. 

Yes,  it  was  true.  Much,  much  more  than  freedom  and 
peace  was  coming  to  her.  Her  candid  heart  and  honest 
brain,  the  very  soul  of  her,  rejected  pretence  and  went 
out  to  meet  the  innocent  truth.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  measured  and  understood  what  love  between  a  man 
and  a  woman  should  be.  No  words  had  been  spoken,  but 
there  was  no  need  of  words.  Spirit  had  bound  them  to- 
gether ;  in  spirit  they  were  already  one.  Each  needed  the 
other. 

While  the  dream  lasted,  she  thought  of  all  that  life  with 
such  a  man  would  mean.  Nothing  mean  or  common  would 
mingle  with  it;  always  he  would  be  lifting  her  towards 
higher  things,  and  passionate  love  itself  would  be  a  flame 
that  purified  and  did  nor  sear.  In  such  joy  as  this  there 
should  be  no  treachery  to  Gladys.  Gladys  herself  would 
understand.    Gladys  herself  loved  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVni 

*  TT   Tf  AVE  you  heard  the  dreadful  news  ?  "  said  Emily 

I  I  Joyce  gaspingly  to  all  the  friends  she  met  as  she 
hurreid  from  the  darkened  house  in  Hans  Place 
md  round  the  corner  into  Hague  Street. 

"No,  what  is  it?" 

"  Aunt  Agnes  died  last  night.  Is  it  not  dreadful?  Only 
:ook  to  her  bed  three  days  ago.  We  all  thought  it  was 
lothing  at  all.  My  poor  sister  was  with  her.  She  is  in  a 
pitiable  condition — such  an  awful  shock!  I'm  only  going 
bo  sit  with  mother  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  I  shall  get 
back  to  be  with  her  again." 

And  on  the  sunlit  pavements  of  Sloane  Street  kind  and 
beautifully  dressed  ladies  paused  in  their  shopping  to  talk 
of  it,  both  to-day  and  the  days  that  followed. 

"  Did  you  know  that  old  Miss  Graham — ^Mrs.  Gilmour's 
sister — who  lived  in  Hans  Place?  " 

"  Yes — but  very  slightly." 

"  Well,  she's  dead.  Died  quite  suddenly.  Lady  Joyce 
— is  dreadfully  upset  about  it." 

"  She  was  a  rather  queer  old  soul,  wasn't  she — I  mean 
eccentric — a  socialist  or  something?  " 

"  Yes,  I  rather  think  she  was.  But  they  were  all  very 
fond  of  her.  Emily  Joyce  said  her  sister — you  know,  the 
one  who's  divorcing  her  husband — ^Mrs.  Vaughan — is 
heart-broken." 

Thus  light  tongues  sounding  in  the  sunlight  spoke  of  the 

gentle  yet  courageous  heart  that  had  for  ever  ceased  to 

beat  in  sympathy  with  the  oppressed  and  in  scorn  of  the 

tyrannical,  while  Claire  wept  for  her  behind  the  drawn 

blinds  of  the  house  that  had  now  become  her  own. 

Very  soon  this  further  news  was  flashing  through  the 

355 


356  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

family  and  round  the  wider  circle  of  their  friends.  Miss 
Graham  had  left  Claire  the  pretty  little  house  in  Hans 
Place  and  about  sixty  thousand  pounds. 

"  All  that  she  died  possessed  of,"  said  Sir  Leonard 
solem.nly.  "  Nothing  whatever  to  anybody  else,"  and  he 
glanced  at  his  faithful  Emily  to  see  how  she  was  taking 
it. 

On  the  whole  Emily  took  it  better  than  might  have  been 
expected.  Bursting  with  indignation  for  a  few  minutes, 
she  soon  calmed  down;  and  before  long  she  declared  her- 
self reconciled  to  what  in  her  first  warm  glow  she  had 
spoken  of  as  "  outrageously  unfair."  Even  in  these  terrible 
times,  with  an  income  tax  and  super  tax  of  savage  ferocity, 
she  and  Leonard  had  really  as  much  money  as  they  could 
possibly  use;  whereas  to  poor  Claire,  denuded  of  every- 
thing, a  modest  sixty  thousand  would  make  all  the  differ- 
ence in  the  world. 

"  Only  I  must  say,  it  is  like  Aunt  Agnes  to  do  it  in  a 
rude  manner — leaving  one  right  out  in  the  cold,  without 
so  much  as  a  souvenir,  not  even  a  piece  of  plate."  Emily 
said  this  during  the  phase  of  cooling  down.  "  However, 
it  is  what  I  might  have  expected.  She  always  made  prime 
favourite  of  Claire,  and  there  was  never  any  love  lost 
between  her  and  me.  I  was  too  outspoken  for  her  taste. 
I  let  her  know  my  mind,  whatever  the  subject,  and  no 
doubt  I  often  touched  her  on  the  raw." 

Leonard,  remembering  the  polished  sharpness  of  the  poor 
dead  lady's  tongue  and  the  redness  of  dear  Emily's  face 
during  arguments  between  them  witnessed  by  himself, 
doubted  whether  it  was  not  Aunt  Agnes  rather  than  Emily 
by  whom  "  the  raw  '*  was  really  touched.  But  he  said 
nothing.  He  was  genuinely  pleased  that  this  legacy  had 
come  to  Claire,  to  re-establish  her  in  a  state  of  competence 
and  independence  after  being  brought  so  low  by  her  rascal 
of  a  husband. 

Mrs.  Gilmour  was  equally  pleased,  and  for  the  same 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  357 

r*  ason.  She  said  at  once,  "  Now  we  shall  have  no  more  of 
tl  ose  dreadful  addresses  that  Claire  used  to  give  us.  I 
c  nnot  exaggerate  how  painful  it  was  to  me  throughout 
t  at  time  when  Claire  was  living  first  in  one  set  of  lodgings 
n  id  then  in  another.  Not  from  any  snobbish  reasons ;  but 
s  mply  because  it  was  so  impossible  to  explain  when  people 
q  lestioned  me,  and  because,  although  Claire  was  very  brave 
aaout  it,  I  knew  she  must  really  feel  it  as  much  as  any- 
b3dy  else."  Then  Mrs.  Gilmour  expressed  surprise  at 
t  le  amount  of  money  left  by  her  sister.  "  It  is  so  much 
more  than  I  should  have  anticipated.  I  confess  it  baffles 
me.  I  can  only  suppose  " — and  she  said  this  rather  plain- 
tively— "  that  Agnes  must  consistently  have  saved  money 
and  somehow  or  other  avoided  making  unfortunate  invest- 
nents.     She  was  of  course  childless." 

Cyril  took  it  badly.  He  thought  that  it  was  the  sacred 
duty  of  the  family  to  support  him  now  that  he  had  not 
(mly  secured  a  wife  who  did  credit  to  them  all,  but  was 
likely  at  any  minute  to  get  into  Parliament.  He  spoke 
unkindly  of  Claire,  saying  that  she  had  failed  in  her  duty 
by  not  making  Aunt  Agnes  remember  her  duty.  He  had  no 
wii^  to  cut  Claire  out  of  her  inheritance,  but  he  con- 
sidered that  half  the  estate  would  have  been  sufficient  for 
her  and  that  clearly  the  other  half  should  have  come  to 
him. 

Mr.  Collie  senior  took  it  worst  of  all.  He  was  seriously 
oifended  because  Miss  Graham  had  employed  another  firm 
af  solicitors  to  draw  her  will.  This  appeared  to  him  a 
slight.  He  attended  the  funeral ;  but  he  had  not  his  usual 
agreeable  funeral  manner.    He  looked  glum  and  huffed. 

He  did  not,  however,  make  Claire  suifer  by  reason  of  his 
natural  feeling  of  resentment.  Mrs.  Vaughan  was  not  to 
blame.  Indeed  he,  and  others  too,  showed  her  now  the 
added  deference  that  is  due  to  ladies  of  substantial  means. 
She  was  no  longer  the  one  indigent  member  of  a  well-to-do 
family,  being  re-adopted  and  rescued  by  her  kind-hearted 


368  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

relatives;  she  was,  so  to  speak,  a  client  standing  solidly 
on  her  own  legs. 

This  notion  of  enhanced  importance,  or  at  any  rate  of 
increased  power,  was  perhaps  unconsciously  in  the  minds  of 
many  people  as  they  talked  and  thought  of  Claire.  -  You 
cannot  be  poor  and  then  become  comparatively  rich  again 
without  causing  friends  and  well-wishers  to  wonder  about 
you.  Would  Claire  continue  to  live  in  Hans  Place,  or 
would  she  let  the  house  furnished  and  travel?  Would  she 
carry  on  Miss  Graham's  work  with  that  league?  In  a 
word,  how  would  the  money  affect  Claire  herself? 

It  was  a  fresh  and  very  interesting  subject  of  discussion 
for  her  family;  but,  strangely  enough,  none  of  them 
thought  of  how  the  money  might  affect  her  in  one  par- 
ticular direction. 

Then  very  soon  the  news  flew  round. 

Roddy  had  announced  that  the  divorce  proceedings  must 
be  stopped.  He  said  that  he  had  changed  his  mind,  and 
he  called  upon  Claire  immediately  to  withdraw  her 
petition. 

Her  advisers  could  not  believe  in  such  baseness — that 
greed  of  money  should  make  him  go  back  on  his  ^bargain 
in  so  dastardly  a  fashion.  He  had  not  only  consented  to 
the  divorce,  he  had  proposed  it  himself.  How  could  he 
have  the  brazen  effrontery  to  attempt  to  retain  the  wife 
he  had  ruined  and  deserted,  now  that  she  had  again  become 
a  valuable  asset? 

Yet  it  was  so.  Having  already  broken  his  promise  that 
he  would  return  to  America,  after  living  for  half  a  year 
on  the  money  Claire  had  given  him  and  anything  he  could 
make  by  betting,  he  was  here  in  London,  large,  bold,  shame- 
less, plainly  determined  to  cause  trouble. 

But  what  trouble  could  he  cause?  Why  should  they  be 
afraid  of  him?  His  sting  had  been  drawn;  his  own  ad- 
mission of  infidelity  and  the  necessary  proofs  of  it  were 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  359 

in  their  hands ;  he  was  powerless  to  prevent  the  divorce. 
It  vas  an  impudent  bluff.  It  was  the  most  flagrantly  vile 
at  empt  at  blackmail ;  and  it  must  be  treated  with  the 
CO  itempt  that  it  deserved.  Leonard  Joyce  and  her  other 
Cf«  msellors  were  firm  as  to  this.  Claire  must  utterly  re- 
p  J  iiate  the  possibiHty  of  any  further  dealings  or  trafBck- 
ir<;s  with  her  husband.  She  must  defy  him  and  denounce 
hill.  Not  another  penny  should  he  ever  get  from  her. 
lAl  ove  all,  she  must   show  that  she  was  not  afraid  of 

hilQ. 

Nevertheless,  despite  of  this  good  advice,  he  was  in  fact 
fiightening  her  and  unnerving  her.  He  wrote  her  letters; 
hi  demanded  to  see  her.  He  warned  her  that  he  was  not 
to  be  trifled  with,  and  prophesied  that  she  would  be  sorry 
if  she  refused  to  fall  in  with  his  changed  views. 

Then  after  more  family  talk  it  was  reluctantly  decided 
tlmt  it  might  be  best  for  Claire  to  see  her  husband  in  the 
presence  of  Leonard  Joyce;  and  one  afternoon  Roddy  came 
by  appointment  to  the  house  in  Hans  Place. 

At  sight  of  him,  Claire  felt  an  almost  superstitious 
dread.  In  her  new  frame  of  thought,  weakened  and  torn 
again  by  recent  grief,  she  felt  as  if  he  represented  the  spirit 
of  evil  itself,  large  and  menacing,  suddenly  arisen  before 
her  to  block  the  opened  path  to  peace. 

He  had  grown  fatter;  he  was  loud  and  flashy  as  to 
attire,  with  a  cunning  smile  on  his  ugly  lips ;  not  sleepy  and 
dull,  but  alert — to  the  extent  that  the  men  one  sees  playing 
cards  in  race  trains  are  alert — quick  to  take  advantage 
cf  every  opportunity,  and  watchful  for  the  blunders  of 
their  opponents. 

With  an  affectation  of  confident  friendliness,  he  con- 
^ratulated  Claire  on  her  improved  appearance.  "  I  told 
you  you'd  soon  recover  your  good  looks,  didn't  I?  " 

Then  tackled  by  Leonard  Joyce,  he  doggedly  repeated 
that  he  had  changed  his  mind.  Circumstances  had 
( hanged.    After  all,  the  last  word  was  with  him. 


360  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  No,  It  isn't,"  said  Leonard  angrily.  "  YouVe  had 
your  last  word.    The  word  is  with  Claire  now." 

"  Then  let  her  speak  for  herself." 

''  Why  don't  you  say  at  once  that  after  spending  one 
fortune  of  Claire's  you  hope  for  the  chance  of  spending 
another.?  " 

"  You'd  better  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head,  Joyce.'' 

And  with  raised  voices  the  two  men  spoke  to  each  other 
violently. 

Claire's  heart  turned  faint  and  sick.  This  noise  and 
violence,  to  which  she  had  hstened  for  so  many  years,  was 
Roddy's  very  atmosphere;  wherever  he  went  he  recreated 
it.  His  presence  here  profaned  the  whole  house,  soiled 
the  cleanness  and  prettiness  of  this  room  in  which  every 
familiar  object  had  felt  the  touch  of  the  kind  dead  friend 
who  hated  him.  It  seemed  to  her  that  all  the  old  de- 
gradation was  being  brought  back  into  her  life,  and  that 
nothing  now  would  ever  really  free  her  from  his  evil 
power. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  you  can  do  ?  "  asked  Leonard,, 
less  loudly  but  with  unabated  wrath. 

"  To  begin  with,  I  can  defend  the  action.  There  are 
many  things  I  can  do.  You'll  find  out  in  good  time. 
Perhaps  Claire  can  make  some  sort  of  guess  already. 
Anyhow,  she  knows  me — she  knows  that  I  don't  talk 
through  my  hat." 

Presently  he  swore  at  Leonard,  and  there  was  another 
noisy  altercation.  Then  he  tried  to  ignore  Leonard  alto- 
gether, and  would  speak  to  Claire  only.  Then  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  assumed  another  manner. 

"  Look  here,  Joyce.  We  are  not  children.  Can't  we 
talk  like  sensible  grown-up  people?  You  must  see  you 
make  it  difficult  for  me.  There  are  things  that  I  wanted 
to  say  to  Claire  alone." 

**  Yes,  but  you  are  not  going  to  be  alone  with  her." 

Roddy  shrugged  his  shoulders  again.    "  All  right.  Have- 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  361 

it     your    own    way.        But    at    any    rate    give    me   a 
f :  ir  chance." 

Then  he  said  that  it  was  absurd  and  childish  to  assume 
t  at  he  ought  to  disregard  Claire's  change  of  circum- 
s  mces.  When  he  agreed  that  a  divorce  was  advisable 
t  ey  were  so  very  hard  up  that  a  joint  household  was  no 
lo  iger  possible.  Now  that  diflSculty  at  least  was  removed. 
If  Claire  would  consent  to  let  bygones  be  bygones  and  make 
a  fresh  start  with  him,  he  would  do  his  best  to  wipe  out 
tl  e  memory  of  past  grievances.  That  was  for  Claire  to 
d<  cide.  He  would  not  press  her,  if  she  did  not  feel  agree- 
elile,  to  begin  the  experiment  at  once.  But  he  insisted 
that  she  should  immediately  stay  all  proceedings  for 
c  vorce.  Then,  when  the  petition  was  withdrawn,  they 
could  quietly  discuss  things  and  arrive  at  some  arrange- 
icent  that  would  be  satisfactory  to  both  of  them. 

"  Very  nice  indeed,"  said  Leonard  mockingly. 
^'Anything  else.?  Don't  stint  yourself.  Give  your 
orders." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Claire.  If  he  won't  keep  quiet,  don't 
notice  what  he  says.  I  appeal  to  you — to  your  sense  of 
justice  too.  Do  you  remember  what  you  told  me  last 
time  we  met?  You  owned  that  in  our  married  life  you 
liad  been  every  bit  as  much  to  blame  as  I." 

"  I'll  swear  that  Claire  never  said  anything  so  ridic- 
olously  untrue." 

"  Claire,  attend  to  me.  Never  mind  him.  Didn't  you 
say  it?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  perhaps  I  did.     Only " 

"  There  you  are,  Joyce.  Perhaps  that'll  make  you  hold 
your  tongue  half  a  minute." 

"  But,  Roddy,  that  was  after  we  had  agreed  to  the 
divorce.     And  I  didn't   for   a  moment  mean   what  you 

now " 

"  You  said  it  and  you  meant  it.  And  you  said  more 
than  that.    I  had  confessed  my  faults.    And  you  said  you 


362      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

knew  that  if  I  had  had  another  sort  of  woman  for  my  wife 
I  should  have  had  a  better  chance." 

"  But,  Roddy " 

"  Claire,  I  ask  you  to  let  me  have  the  chance.  In  my 
eyes,  you  are  another  sort  of  woman  now.  You've  learnt 
many  lessons — you're  much  older — more  experienced.  And 
I  swear  that  I  will  be  a  different  sort  of  man.  Anyhow, 
give  me  a  fair  trial.  Don't  listen  to  what  other  people 
tell  you  to  do.  Act  for  yourself — ^be  your  own  true  self ;  " 
and  he  would  have  taken  her  hand,  but  she  recoiled  from 
him.     "  Don't  answer  me  now.     Think  it  over.     I  warn 

you "  and  he  gave  her  a  very  ugly  smile — "  I  warn  you, 

Claire,  that  if  you  refuse  to  consider  it,  I  shall  draw  my 
own  conclusions.     There.     Think  it  over  carefully." 

But  Leonard  said  that  he  answered  for  her  now  and  at 
once.  Roddy  might  take  her  answer  away  with  him.  It 
was  an  emphatic  negative. 

The  hateful  conversation  ended  with  a  renewal  of  bluster 
and  threats.  Roddy  threatened  Claire  with  unimaginable 
reprisals.  He  gave  her  a  week  to  withdraw  her  petition. 
If  she  remained  obdurate,  in  a  week  from  now  he  would 
take  measures  to  make  her  sorry  for  herself. 

And  Leonard,  again  answering  for  her,  told  him  he 
might  do  his  damnedest. 

After  this  interview  Claire's  nerves  were  shaken,  and 
in  dread  lest  Roddy  should  come  again  and  force  an 
entrance  to  the  house,  she  went  to  stay  with  Leonard  and 
Emily  for  a  little  while.  Leonard  told  her  that  by  reason 
of  her  petition  she  was  legally  protected  from  molestation 
by  Roddy,  and  talked  of  getting  an  order  from  the  Court 
if  Roddy  dared  to  show  his  nose  in  Hans  Place.  He  urged 
Claire  to  shake  off  all  fears  of  Roddy;  for  they  were 
quite  baseless. 

But  Claire  was  afraid  of  Roddy.  She  knew  him  better 
than  other  people.  She  wished  her  advisers  to  buy  him 
off;  she  said  that  since  it  was  her  money  that  he  really 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  363 

w.i  ited,  let  him  have  her  money,  if  only  he  would  leave  her 
in    Deace. 

This,  of  course,  was  not  to  be  thought  of:  her  friends 
in  1 3nded  that  she  should  have  peace  and  the  money  too. 

Then  it  became  known  that  Roddy  had  successfully 
ajolied  for  the  removal  of  the  suit  to  the  defended  list. 
Ai  d  it  was  further  known  that  the  solicitors  now  acting 
f c  '  Roddy  were  Messrs.  Glover  and  Stock,  a  firm  exceed- 
ir;;ly  famous  for  their  long-estabhshed  and  successful  con- 
n"3tion  with  the  divorce  courts. 

"  Sharp  devils,"  said  Mr.  Collie  junior.  "  They  know 
til 3  thing  from  A  to  Z.  So  we  mustn't  let  them  catch 
us  tripping." 

At  this  time  there  was  another  family  assembly  at  Mr. 
ColHe's  office.  Claire,  brought  there  by  Leonard  and 
Enily,  again  suggested  that  Roddy  should  be  given  money, 
as  much  money  as  he  wanted,  to  make  him  desist  from 
oj)posing  the  divorce;  and  she  put  before  them  a  letter 
from  Roddy,  in  which  he  told  her  it  was  still  open  to  her 
to  withdraw  the  petition  and  advised  her  so  to  do  before 
it  was  too  late. 

But  no  one  could  patiently  contemplate  yielding  to 
Roddy's  assault.  Cave  in  to  such  an  out-and-out 
scoundrel?  Oh,  no.  It  would  be  consenting  to  blackmail. 
It  would  be  worse — it  would  be  collusion.  It  would  be 
(conspiring  to  defeat  the  ends  of  justice. 

Mrs.  Gilmour  shook  her  head  as  firmly  as  anybody 
^resent.  Mrs.  Gilmour  had  been  brought  here  by  Uncle 
Derek,  because  old  Mr.  Collie  considered  it  necessary  to 
explain  to  her  that  he  was  now  compelled  to  modify  his 
pledge  to  carry  through  everything  without  names  being 
nentioned.  Naturally  an  undefended  case  was  not  the 
same  thing  as  a  hotly  contested  action.  Although  it  was 
difficult  to  see  what  possible  defence  Captain  Vaughan 
could  set  up,  nevertheless,  if  he  really  meant  fighting,  some 
slight  publicity  seemed  inevitable.     To  shirk  this  event- 


364.  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

uality  would,  Mr.  Collie  thought,  be  playing  into  the 
enemy's  hands ;  for  he  himself  felt  convinced  that  Captain 
Vaughan,  not  having  a  leg  to  stand  on,  would  soon 
ignominiously  collapse  and  abandon  his  defence,  whatever 
it  might  be.  The  whole  thing,  Mr.  Collie  thought,  was 
done  to  scare  them.  He  therefore  implored  Mrs.  Gilmour 
to  brace  herself  against  the  discomfort  of  a  few  mild  news- 
paper notices  and  to  stand  firmer  than  ever. 

Much  to  the  contentment  both  of  Mr.  Collie  and  Leonard 
Joyce,  Mrs.  Gilmour  rose  to  the  occasion  very  handsomely. 
She  said  that,  after  all  she  had  now  learnt  of  her  son-in- 
law's  shameless  duplicity,  she  would  suffer  any  annoyance 
rather  than  bow  her  neck  under  his  yoke  or  let  Claire  bow 
her  neck  eithero 

Thus  the  whole  family  agreed  to  stand  firm.  All  were 
in  arms  and  resolute  against  the  common  enemy. 

"  It  is  a  very  curious  thing,"  said  Uncle  Derek,  every- 
thing being  settled,  "  and  it  shows  what  a  truly  remarkable 
woman  Agnes  was,  that  she  exactly  foretold  the  danger 
which  we  are  now  called  to  meet.  Yes,  when  she  first  came 
to  me  to  point  out  the  desirability  of  a  divorce,  she  confided 
her  intention  of  leaving  all  her  property  to  our  dear  Claire. 
And  she  said  the  divorce  must  be  pushed  through ;  because 
were  she  to  die  and  Claire  come  into  the  money  before  she 
got  her  divorce,  Roddy  would  certainly  try  to  upset  the 
apple-cart.  You  know  her  quaint,  picturesque  way  of 
expressing  herself.  Now  we  see  " — and  old  Derek  beamed 
round  upon  everybody — ''  we  see  how  accurate  was  her 
forecast.  I  believe  it  was  her  native  perspicuity  and  not 
any  premonition  of  death  that  made  her  so  anxious — 
although  she  may  have  guessed  at  her  state  and  bravely 
concealed  it.  But  is  it  not  a  pity  that  things  should  have 
so  fallen  out.'^  Claire  might  be  already  in  a  position  to 
laugh  at  Roddy — you  know  what  I  mean,  Claire — ^we 
might  all  snap  our  fingers  at  him,  but  for  these  intolerable, 
these  overwhelming  delays,  these- — j — '^ 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  365 

•*  The  Law's  delays,  mj  dear  sir,"  said  old  Collie  huffily. 
**  hope  you  do  not  suppose  that  they  have  been  otherwise 
t  m  unavoidable,  or  in  any  way  attributable  to  lack  of 
e   ergy  in  this  office." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  old  Derek,  with  courteous  haste.  "  Of 
c;  urse  not.  Just  as  you  say,  the  Law's  delay.  There  is  a 
clissical  quotation  to  that  eflfect,  is  there  not?  " 

About  this  time,  too,  Claire  heard  that  Basil  Everett 
\  is  again  in  London.  They  had  exchanged  a  few  words  on 
tlie  day  of  the  funeral  and  since  then  they  had  written  to 
(  ich  other;  but  although  Claire  was  anxious  to  see  him, 
a  series  of  unlucky  chances  had  kept  them  apart.  He  had 
called  at  the  house  in  Hans  Place  while  Claire  was  staying 
^vith  the  Joyces ;  then  when  she  was  back  at  her  own  house 
he  had  gone  to  look  for  her  at  the  Joyces';  and  once  again 
te  had  come  to  Hans  Place,  only  to  miss  her  again. 

Emily  had  told  him  everything  canceming  Roddy's 
iniquitous  change  of  front,  and  she  reported  to  Claire  that 
she  had  never  known  anybody  so  indignant.  "  He  looked 
as  if  he  would  like  to  go  away  and  murder  Roddy."  She 
also  said  that  she  remembered  him  as  quite  a  young  man, 
and  he  was  then  a  most  odious  prig,  but  now  he  was  so 
greatly  improved  that  she  began  to  understand  why  Aunt 
Agnes  had  always  made  such  a  fuss  about  him.  "  We  sat 
talking  for  I  should  think  an  hour  and  a  half,  and  I  really 
liked  him.  If  possible,  I  shall  get  Leonard  to  cultivate  him. 
However,  there  won't  be  much  opportunity  if  he  is  sent  to 
Egypt." 

And  Emily  spoke  of  something  she  had  read  in  a  news- 
paper saying  that  Colonel  Everett  would  probably  succeed 
Lord  Ashbury  at  Cairo  when  that  talented  official  gave 
over  the  diplomatic  and  military  work  that  he  was  doing 
so  admirably. 

Now,  late  one  morning,  Claire  received  a  telegram  from 
Basil  asking  if  he  might  call  upon  her  early  in  the  after- 


366      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

noon.  But  once  more  chance  was  against  her;  for  her 
whole  afternoon  was  already  engaged.  When  the  telegram 
arrived  she  was  on  the  point  of  going  out  to  meet  Uncle 
Derek.  The  good  old  chap,  actuated  by  his  usual  kind- 
liness, had  persuaded  her  to  let  him  give  her  a  little  treat 
for  the  benefit  of  her  health.  She  was  to  lunch  with  him 
very  quietly  at  one  of  his  innumerable  clubs ;  then  he  would 
take  her  to  see  some  new  war  pictures,  and  after  that  he 
would  give  her  tea  and  escort  her  home.  All  this,  he  de- 
clared, was  a  strictly  permissible  relaxation  in  spite  of 
her  mourning;  it  would  do  her  good,  and  if  poor  Aunt 
Agnes  knew  what  he  proposed  he  was  sure  she  would 
wish  Claire  to  say  Yes.  Claire  said  Yes.  Whatever  her 
own  inclinations,  she  could  not  have  said  No  without 
wounding  his  feelings. 

But  now  she  wished  that  Uncle  Derek  had  chosen  any 
other  day  than  this. 

She  had  a  special  reason,  apart  from  any  others,  for 
wanting  to  see  Basil.  After  vainly  searching  through  her 
aunt's  papers  for  any  memorandum  or  letter,  such  as  kind 
people  so  often  leave  behind  them,  expressing  sacred, 
though  not  legally  binding  wishes  as  to  gifts  to  servants 
or  friends,  Claire  had  come  upon  a  packet  neatly  tied  and 
sealed,  with  this  superscription :  "  For  Basil  Everett.  To 
he  put  into  his  own  ha/nds,^^  and  a  date.  From  the  size 
and  character  of  the  little  parcel  she  guessed  that  it  con- 
tained tne  of  Aunt  Agnes's  miniatures  or  a  small  picture. 
But  Claire  was  surprised  and  worried  by  the  date  that 
Aunt  Agnes  had  written  beneath  the  direction.  It  was  so 
very  recent — after  their  visit  to  Brighton.  Did  this  mean 
that  when  Aunt  Agnes  packed  up  her  gift  or  souvenir  she 
knew  that  her  days  were  numbered?  Or  was' it  merely 
something  that  she  was  putting  aside  for  Basil  without 
any  intention  that  it  should  be  held  back  till  after  her 
death?  Perhaps  she  had  meant  herself  to  put  it  into 
Basil's  hands,  and  had  written  those  words  only  to  identify 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  367 

t  e  parcel  among  all  the  other  things  in  the  drawer  where 
ii  lay.  Claire  was  very  anxious  to  set  this  doubt  at  rest 
I)  /  learning  what  was  really  in  the  parcel  and  talking  to 
1  asil  about  her  aunt. 

She  did  not  answer  the  telegram.     Suddenly  the  idea 

id  occurred  to  her  that  she  could  easily  deliver  the  packet 

)-day ;  so  she  took  it  with  her,  and  immediately  on  her 
I  L^ival  at  the  club  she  asked  Uncle  Derek  if,  after  luncheon, 
i  e  would  mind  going  with  her  to  Colonel  Everett's  rooms 
f  or  a  few  minutes  on  their  way  to  the  pictures.  Of  course 
the  old  fellow  did  not  mind.  He  trotted  away  to  the 
telephone,  and  returning  presently  said  that  Colonel 
Jilverett  was  at  his  rooms  and  would  expect  them  at  a 
([uarter  to  three. 

"  Tell  me  about  him,"  he  said,  as  they  sat  down  to 
luncheon.  And  Claire,  willingly  enough,  talked  of  this 
great  friend  of  her  aunt's;  telling  Uncle  Derek  also  of 
Jiis  unfailing  kindness  to  herself. 

Uncle  Derek  had  seen  that  paragraph  about  Basil's 
future  appointment,  but  he  said  that  this  would  not  mean 
an  immediate  departure,  because  according  to  his  own  in- 
formation Lord  Ashbury  was  not  Ukely  to  give  up  the  post 
till  next  year. 

At  a  quarter  to  three  Claire  and  her  elderly  escort 
were  approaching  the  comer  out  of  St.  James's  Square, 
and  just  before  reaching  the  comer  Uncle  Derek 
paused. 

"  Those  pictures,  Claire,  are  at  a  private  gallery  in 
Bond  Street ;  but  before  going  in  to  your  friend  I  will  just 
verify  the  number  by  consulting  my  little  tablets.  My 
memory  is  not  what  it  was.  Perhaps  you  would  like  Colonel 
Everett   to    accompany   us.     By    all    means    ask   him   if 

you Oh,  Claire!     Good  gracious  me.     Oh,  dear,  oh 

dear." 

Uncle  Derek,  consulting  his  tablets,  had  made  a  terrible 
discovery.     His  eyes  grew  round,  and  he  stared  at  Claire 


368      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

in  consternation  and  then  looked  wildly  across  the  Square 
towards  the  large  buildings  of  Pall  Mall. 

At  3  p.m.  to-day  there  was  a  special  gen€ral  meeting  at 
another  of  his  clubs,  and  he  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  He 
was  on  the  committee  too. 

^  Claire,  what  can  I  do  ?  "  he  said,  after  explaining  his 
distress. 

"  Why,  of  course,  you  must  leave  me.  Uncle  Derek,  and 
go  to  your  meeting." 

"  Then  what  will  you  Ao?  " 

Claire  hesitated  a  moment  before  she  answered.  "  I 
shall  go  to  see  Colonel  Everett,  and  then  make  my  way 
home." 

"  Nay,  nay,  you  must  at  least  let  me  give  you  tea.  How 
can  you  ever  forgive  me  for  such  a  blunder  .f'  " 

But  Claire  assured  the  old  chap  that  it  did  not  matter 
in  the  least;  and  with  more  profuse  apologies  he  trotted 
off  towards  Pall  Mall. 

There  was  nobody  in  the  stone  hall,  and  Claire,  turning 
her  back  on  the  lift,  had  gone  half-way  up  the  first  flight 
of  stairs  when  the  porter  came  out  and  called  to  her. 

"  Lift,  miss.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am.  For  the 
moment  I  didn't  recognize  you.  You've  often  been  here 
for  the  Colonel,  haven't  you?" 

He  wore  the  same  apple-green  coat  with  the  two  wound 
stripes,  and  as  he  took  her  up  in  the  lift  he  talked  to  her 
as  an  old  friend.  She  dreaded  lest  he  should  ask  for 
news  of  her  daughter  or  her  aunt.  But  he  did  not 
do  so. 

*'There.  You  know  your  way,  ma'am.  The  door  facing 
you  at  the  end." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Vaughan,  where  is  Mr.  Harpington  .'^  "  said 
Basil.  He  had  opened  the  door  himself.  "  You  are  not 
alone,  are  you.?  " 

As  she  looked  at  his  face,  she  saw  as  well  as  surprise 
what  seemed  like  a  slight  embarrassment.     She  explained 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  369 

XV  ly  she  was  unaccompanied;  then,  as  she  stood  in  the 
11  iddle  of  the  room  with  the  parcel  in  her  hand,  she  felt 
tl  at  she  was  flushing.  She  had  hesitated  just  now,  thinking 
i)  common  and  conventional  ideas ;  but  surely  he  of  all 
r  Bople  would  not  entertain  a  thought  that  there  was  any 
?]  ipropriety  in  her  coming  here  alone  to  accomplish  this 
s  mple  task.  She  struggled  against  a  stupid  and  unworthy 
*3  nbarrassment ;  and  meeting  his  eyes  with  her  old  candid 
s  :eadiness  she  saw  nothing  but  the  grave  kindness  that 
sie  knew  so  well.  It  was  all  right.  He  was  himself — 
ciiFerent  from  and  higher  than  common  men. 

But  a  fresh  and  far  more  painful  constraint  fell  upon 
Ler  as  she  told  him  of  the  packet  and,  fulfilling  l/er  duty, 
])ut  it  into  his  hands. 

"  Thank  you.  How  kind  of  her.  How  kind  of  you  to 
bring  it.  Shall  I  open  it  now  or  wait  till  after  you  are 
l^one  ?  " 

"  I — I  don't  know.  I  wanted  to  ask  you — But  perhaps 
you  had  better  wait.'' 

She  was  thinking  of  something  that  had  never  occurred 
to  her  till  this  moment.  Suppose  there  were  matters  in 
the  packet  that  concerned  herself?  A  letter?  Suppose 
that  Aunt  Agnes  had  written  him  a  letter — a  message  to 
come  to  him  after  her  death,  telling  him  the  things  she 
had  said  to  Claire ;  telling  him  of  her  great  wish  ? 

"  Just  as  you  like,"  he  said.  "  I  will  do  whatever  you 
i:ell  me." 

"  Then  open  it,  please.  And  if  there  is  a  letter  I  will 
ask  you  not  to  read  it  now  but  later  on." 

"  Very  well." 

She  had  spoken  firmly,  determined  to  shake  off  the 
doubt  and  the  discomfort  that  oppressed  her;  and  she 
turned  from  him  and  moved  away. 

"  One  moment,  Mrs.  Vaughan,"  he  said  hastily.  "  Don't 
sit  by  the  window,  please.  I'll  tell  you  why  directly.  Won't 
you  sit  here,  by  the  fire?  '^ 


370  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

While  speaking  he  himself  had  gone  towards  the  window. 
He  drew  back  again,  and  sitting  at  a  table  cut  the  strings 
of  the  parcel  and  threw  open  its  paper  wrappings  and 
examined  the  contents.  They  were  photographs  of  Claire ; 
perhaps  half  a  dozen  of  them — "  Claire  as  a  little  child," 
"  Claire,  aged  fourteen."  "  Claire,  aged  twenty."  The 
blood  mounted  to  his  forehead,  his  whole  face  softened  and 
brightened  with  pleasure;  then,  glancing  shyly  at  Claire, 
he  refolded  the  papers.  She  was  not  looking  at  him;  in 
any  event,  from  where  she  sat  she  would  not  have  been 
able  to  see  the  photographs. 

"  There  is  no  letter,"  he  said.  "  No  business  matter  at 
all.  It  is  only  some  mementoes  that  your  aunt  knew  I 
would  like  to  have ;  "  and  he  carried  the  packet  across  the 
room  and  put  it  in  a  writing-desk. 

Then  he  came  to  the  fireplace,  and  stood  there  while  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  questioning  eyes.  But  the  sense  of 
constraint  was  on  both  of  them  now,  on  him  more  heavily 
than  on  her.  He  could  not  tell  her  what  she  had  brought 
him,  and  yet  obviously  she  must  want  to  know.  She  would 
think  his  silence  unnatural.  When  she  spoke  of  what 
Uncle  Derek  had  said,  and  what  she  now  herself  thought, 
about  Aunt  Agnes  having  a  premonition  of  death,  he  an- 
swered her  nervously,  almost  inattentively.  When  she 
asked  a  question  as  to  his  rumoured  appointment,  he 
scarcely  knew  what  he  was  replying. 

"You  would  be  away  for  a  long  time?"  she  said,  in 
the  sweet,  deep  tone  that  he  loved  more  than  any  music 
he  had  ever  heard ;  and  he  could  only  say  stupidly  that  he 
was  not  gone  yet  and  perhaps  would  never  go.  He  did 
not  feel  keen  to  go. 

"  But  it  would  be  splendid  work,  wouldn't  it  ?  The  sort 
of  work  you  would  like?  However  much  your  friends  may 
miss  you,  they  cannot  wish  you  not  to  go." 

He  moved  abruptly  and  looked  away  from  her.  The 
sadness  in  her  voice  as  she  said  those  last  words,  the  droop 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  371 

c;  her  neck,  the  submissive  gentleness  of  her  whole  attitude, 
]   3rced  his  heart  with  a  sweetly  burning  pain. 

"  Everybody  is  very  kind,"  he  murmured.  "  Yes,  it's 
r  lite  a  good  job.  Of  course  I  don't  know  if  I  shall  get  it 
ir  the  end,  but  they  have  told  me  to  prepare  myself  for  it." 

And  as  though  invincibly  drawn  back,  his  eyes  returned 
to  her  face. 

"  I  will  go  now ;  "  and  she  rose  from  the  low  chair.  And 
I  ley  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment,  looking  at  each  other 
lialplessly,  as  if  not  knowing  what  more  to  say,  although 
r  3ading  the  trouble  in  each  other's  breast. 

Indeed  there  was  nothing  that  he  might  say  to  her.  He 
">^  anted  to  say  that  there  was  no  splendid  work  in  all  the 
i^'orld  except  to  love  her  and  to  serve  her.  He  wanted  to 
tell  her  that  he  had  no  hope  in  life  except  the  hope  of 
winning  her.  He  wanted  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  tell 
her  that  he  would  never  let  her  go  again,  that  he  would 
not  wait  upon  the  caprices  of  destiny  any  longer,  tliat  his 
love  was  too  great  for  the  law's  delay.  But  all  these  were 
things  that  he  could  not  say  and  she  could  not  hear. 

Claire  watching  his  face  felt  suddenly  that  all  her  trouble 
was  gone.  She  had  understood.  It  had  been  but  a  mo- 
mentary pause;  and  yet,  brief  as  it  was,  there  had  been 
time  in  it  to  flood  her  heart  with  tranquil  trustful 
happiness. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said  again ;  and  in  the  dark  softness 
of  her  eyes  he  saw  now  that  it  did  not  really  matter  whether 
he  spoke  or  remained  silent. 

It  was  true,  as  she  herself  had  said  in  her  secret 
thoughts.    Between  these  two  there  was  no  need  of  words. 

"  Mrs.  Vaughan,  wait  a  minute  before  you  go."  The 
constraint  had  gone  utterly,  and  he  spoke  in  his  easy 
pleasant  natural  manner.  "  Rather  an  odd  thing  has 
happened  to  me.  But  first  tell  me,  did  you  notice  anyone 
down  below  when  you  came  in.''  " 

"  No,  only  the  porter." 


372  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Only  the  porter." 

He  had  gone  to  the  window,  and,  standing  behind  the 
Bfiuslin  curtain  he  cautiously  looked  down  into  the 
street. 

"  Yes,  hang  the  fellow's  impudence,  he  is  there  still." 

Then  he  told  her  that  for  the  last  three  days  a  man 
had  been  hanging  about  the  house  and  evidently  watching 
it ;  ^nd  that  he  had  seen  this  same  man  yesterday  at  the 
Army  and  Navy  Stores  and  later  when  he  left  the 
Travellers'  Club  after  dinner. 

"  From  which  I  deduce,  Mrs.  Vaughan,  that  the  fellow  is 
watching  tw^,"  said  Basil  smiling.  "  I  am  being  shadowed,''* 

"  But  how  extraordinary.  "  and  Claire  had  a  shiver  of 
fear.  Could  it  be  that  Basil  was  in  danger  because  of  all 
those  political  missions — ^his  journeys  into  Germany  and 
other  comquered  territories.'^  An  agent  sent  to  dog  his 
steps?    An  assassin? 

Basil  Everett  laughed  cheerfully  when  she  spoke  of  such 
possibilities. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  altogether  exaggerate  my  importance. 
No,  he's  not  an  assassin,  but  he  is  going  to  get  a  kicking 
if  he  isn't  careful.  Only,  meanwhile,  it  struck  me  that  if 
he  saw  you  come  in  he  need  not  see  you  go  out.  One  never 
knows  what  annoyance — An  unpleasant  idea  occurred  to 
me.  I  won't  trouble  you  with  that.  But,  if  you  don't  mind, 
I  think  it  might  be  as  well  for  me  to  take  you  out  by  the 
back  door  instead  of  the  front  door.  There's  an  entrance 
in  the  other  street,  you  know." 

They  did  what  he  suggested.  After  reconnoitring,  he 
returned  to  the  room,  and  then  led  her  down  a  service  stair- 
case at  the  back  of  the  building,  through  a  passage  past 
offices  and  kitchens,  and  out  into  the  open  air.  They  met 
no  one  on  the  way;  and  Basil,  looking  round  as  they 
emerged  from  the  other  street,  saw  that  no  on  had  ob- 
served them  there. 

"  My  friend  in  front,"  he  said,  laughing,  "  probably 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  373 

d  sesn't  know  that  I  have  this  bolt-hole  available.  May 
I  walk  with  you  a  little  way?  " 

"  No,  I'll  say  good-bye,  I  think,  now." 

"  Have  you  things  to  do?  " 

"  I  don't  quite  know  what  I  am  going  to  do." 

She  did  not  know.  She  turned  eastward ;  and  presently 
a  a  impulse  took  her  into  the  National  Gallery,  where  she 
1?  andered  through  the  rooms  looking  at  the  glorious  old 
J  ictures  without  seeing  them.  For  a  long  time  she  sat  with 
folded  hands  upon  a  divan,  dreaming.  She  was  happier, 
far  happier  than  she  had  believed  could  be  ever  possible, 
{.nd  she  asked  herself  was  it  wrong  to  feel  this  joy. 

Then,  after  an  hour  or  so,  she  had  tea  at  a  confectioner's 
fhop,  and  as  the  evening  was  very  fine  walked  through 
1:he  streets.  She  was  deep  in  the  dream,  almost  unconscious 
of  surroundings^  walking  without  sense  of  direction,  but 
ifeeling  that  her  footsteps  to-day  and  every  day  to  come 
would  lead  her  surely  nearer  to  the  realization  of  this  great 
hope.  Lamplight,  darkness,  and  then  again  more  light — 
as  she  sauntered  on  the  voice  of  dead  Aunt  Agnes  sounded 
in  the  dream.  "  He  will  make  up  to  you  for  all  that  you 
have  gone  through.  .  .  .  He  loves  you  with  such  a  pure 
and  noble  love." 

It  was  late  when  she  reached  home. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

RODDY  and  those  cruelly  keen  solicitors  of  his  were 
at  work,  A  whisper  reached  Leonard  Joyce  that 
Roddy's  defence  would  take  the  form  of  a  counter- 
attack ;  young  Collie  felt  sure  that  he  intended  to  institute 
a  cross  suit ;  Mr.  Collie  senior  did  not  apprehend  the  like- 
lihood of  this  move,  in  the  absence  of  all  possible  materials ; 
Emily,  hearing  about  it,  did  not  understand  what  was 
meant  and  craved  for  explanations  of  technical  terms. 
Then,  before  one  could  draw  breath,  the  thing  was  an 
accomplished  fact. 

Roddy  had  filed  a  petition  praying  for  the  dissolution 
of  his  marriage  on  the  grounds  of  Claire's  adultery.  He 
cited  Basil  Everett  as  co-respondent,  and  specified  dates 
for  alleged  acts  of  misconduct  as  having  occurred  in 
Brighton  and  in  London. 

After  all,  it  was  a  well-established  move  in  the  game. 
He  was,  of  course,  playing  for  a  stale-mate,  which  from 
his  point  of  view  meant  victory.  Although  himself  guilty, 
if  Claire's  conduct  were  not  free  from  all  reproach  she 
would  not  be  entitled  to  relief ;  for  the  Court  closely  scru- 
tinizes the  hands  held  up  in  prayer  before  It,  and  must 
find  them  quite  clean  or  it  cannot  show  mercy.  So  Roddy, 
while  now  himself  pretending  to  ask  for  a  divorce,  was 
trying  to  take  the  most  unscrupulous,  the  vilest  means  to 
render  his  marriage  indissoluble. 

The  Gilmour  family  staggered  beneath  the  violence  of 
the  brutal  blow.  For  a  little  while  they  were  like  children 
who  have  been  hurt  and  who  are  holding  their  breath 
before  they  begin  to  make  a  noise.  Then  the  indignation 
burst  forth  voluminously.  Was  it  conceivable?  Did  the 
law  really  allow  it.'*     What  was  libel,  what  was  slander, 

374 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  376 

if  such  an  outrage  could  be  committed  with  impunity? 
T  )  accuse  Claire,  of  all  women  in  the  world — this  gentle, 
lo  ig-suffering  creature,  against  whom  even  in  the  pride 
€j  her  beauty  there  had  never  been  one  whisper;  Claire, 
T  lo  as  a  young  and  ill-treated  wife  had  passed  through 
e^  ery  kind  of  temptation,  dignified  and  calm,  not  even 
SLeming  to  be  conscious  that  she  was  admired,  courted  and 
ci  sired;  Claire,  who  from  childhood  till  now  had  been 
cliastity  personified!  What  must  be  her  feelings  under 
such  a  foul  and  unmerited  accusation !  But  in  truth  Claire 
<liring  this  first  warmth  of  anger  and  disgust  was  tem- 
])3rarily  almost  forgotten.  The  assault  upon  her  reputa- 
tion was  an  assault  upon  the  reputation  of  the  whole 
family.  Every  one  of  them  now  felt  directly  implicated, 
all  were  burning  to  avenge  the  general  insult. 

While  they  talked  Basil  Everett  had  acted.  He  could 
]iot  remain  altogether  passive;  his  anger  and  scorn  were 
so  fiercely  strong  that  he  must  do  something,  and  the 
thing  that  he  did  was  injudicious,  although  its  results  were 
probably  of  no  consequence  at  all. 

With  a  soldier's  instinct  he  directly  sought  out  the 
enemy.  In  the  midst  of  his  rage  he  could  not  believe  that 
this  fellow  Vaughan  was  such  an  utterly  conscienceless  ras- 
cal as  his  methods  indicated ;  he  thought  that  if  he  could  get 
hold  of  him  as  man  to  man  he  must  be  able  to  make  some 
iippression.  Without  any  difficulty  he  attained  sight  and 
speech  of  liim ;  and  alone,  face  to  face  with  him,  in  a  small 
back  room  of  that  large  second-class  club  to  which  Roddy 
had  always  belonged,  Basil  swore  to  the  innocence  of  him- 
self and  Claire,  and  appealed  to  Roddy's  last  faint  sense  . 
of  decency  or  manly  virtue  not  to  bring  shame  upon  her. 

"  Just  so,"  said  Roddy,  with  a  scowl.  "  Then  it'll  be 
no  trouble  to  either  of  you  to  prove  it  before  a  judge  and 
jury." 

"  We'll  prove  it  easily  enough,  but  I  want  her  to  be 
saved  from  so  degrading  a  necessity.'' 


376  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  Yes,  you  want  a  great  deal,"  said  Roddy  hotly ;  **  you 
want  what  you're  not  gomg  to  get.  Oh,  I  know  all  about 
you,  Everett — You're  the  faithful  friend,  aren't  you? 
When  I  was  out  of  the  way,  you  were  very  useful,  weren't 
you?" 

And  at  last  he  plainly  showed  the  character  of  his  mind. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  brutally.  "Perhaps  she  is  inno- 
cent in  deed — ^but  she  isn't  in  intention.  I've  seen  the  plot 
clearly  enough — for  longer  too  than  either  of  you  guessed. 
If  she  can  get  away  from  me,  she  is  to  reward  you  for 
your  faithfulness  and  all  your  dancing  attendance  on  her. 
Do  you  deny  it?  You  are  to  be  married  as  soon  as  she 
is  free  to  marry." 

"  I  swear  on  my  honour  that  I  have  never  said  a  word 
to  her  to  suggest  it," 

Roddy  grinned  contemptuously  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  Oh,  you've  been  too  delicate.  But  she  understands  all 
right,  doesn't  she?  She'll  be  ready  for  you  when  the  time 
comes  to  lead  her  to  the  altar.  Do  you  deny  that's  what 
you're  aiming  at?    Do  you  deny  it's  your  full  intention?  " 

And  Basil  could  not  deny. 

"  Well,  that  doesn't  suit  my  book.  She's  my  wife — 
and  I  have  decided  to  keep  her." 

Then  Basil  poured  out  scorn  upon  him;  saying  those 
unpremeditated  things  that  a  high-spirited  but  cultivated 
man  does  not  anticipate  that  he  would  ever  be  likely  to 
say  until  he  has  heard  them  sounding  in  his  own  voice. 
He  had  sufficient  control  of  himself  still  not  to  pass  from 
words  to  blows,  although  every  instinct  was  clamouring  for 
this  further  lapse  and  hope  whispered  that  a  blow  from 
Roddy  might  inevitably  compel  it.  But  Roddy  kept  his 
coarse  fists  down,  and  only  used  his  snarling  tongue.  To 
any  one  who  heard  the  two  of  them  it  must  have  sounded 
like  a  row  on  a  racecourse  between  a  gentleman  punter 
and  a  blackguard  welsher.     At  last  the  gentleman  walks 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  377 

B.'  SLj  With  a  gesture  of  contemptj  and  the  tout  stands  and 
t]  isphemes  or  threatens  more  and  more  loudly  as  the  dis- 
ti  Qce  increases  f  between  them. 

The  initial  preparations  of  the  two  suits  continued ;  and 
C  aire's  friends  and  relatives  went  on  talking.  But  the 
fmily  talk  now  was  changed  from  the  talk  of  an  easy 
I  .st ;  there  was  no  pleasure  in  the  unceasing  debates.  This 
1  tie  game  of  Claire's  divorce  had  become  deadly  serious; 
tt  ey  were  playing  for  high  stakes.  The  talkers  themselves 
l:oked  different,  were,  in  fact,  different.  Mrs.  Gilmour, 
a;  if  awakened  from  a  slumber  of  years,  no  longer  wandered 
Icre  and  there  or  discoursed  at  large;  she  was  concen- 
tiated,  eager,  speaking  strangely  to  the  point;  when  she 
srid  that  she  suffered  grievously,  and  must  always  suffer 
u.iless  her  daughter's  honour  were  vindicated,  it  was  quite 
c*i3viously  the  fact  and  not  a  mere  fancy.  Even  Sir  John, 
the  supine  baronet,  came  up  from  Liverpool  to  join  in 
tliis  new  sort  of  talk. 

It  was  like  the  old  talk  only  in  one  respect,  that  it  led 
nowhere.  "  Is  there  not  any  way  of  stopping  him.'^  Do 
you  think  he  himself  intends  to  go  on  with  it  ?  '*  They 
t^isked  one  another  such  questions  as  these  at  the  beginning 
of  a  discussion,  and  then  an  hour  or  two  later,  at  its 
ond,  asked  the  very  same  questions. 

"  Leonard,  what  do  you  think?  Will  he  have  the 
audacity  to  carry  it  through?  Don't  you  think  that  Mr. 
Collie  was  right,  and  that  he'll  collapse  before  the 
:rial?'' 

"  I  echo  your  doubt,  my  dear  Emily,"  said  old  Derek. 
'  I  only  wish  we  knew  for  certain  exactly  what  he  means 
:o  do." 

But  Claire  kntew  too  well  what  he  meant  to  do,  had 
mown  from  the  day  on  which  she  heard  of  his  attack  upoa 
ler  good  name.  He  meant  to  separate  her  for  ever  from 
Jie  man  she  loved.  And  fatally,  irrevocably,  he  was  doing 
t. 


878  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

She  could  never  marry  Basil  now.  To  marry  him  would 
be  to  admit  the  truth  of  the  charge  against  her,  after 
having  refuted  it  in  open  court.  Once  free,  and  her  char- 
acter cleared,  she  might  marry  anybody  else  alive,  but 
not  Basil.  The  one  man  on  earth  who  could  give  her  con- 
solation and  wipe  out  all  her  pain  and  grief  was  lost  to 
her. 

Basil  would  tell  her  that  she  was  wrong  to  believe  this, 
would  beg  her  to  brave  the  opinion  of  the  world,  would 
say  that  what  the  world  thought  was  nothing  to  him. 
But  she  knew  that  she  was  right.  She  knew  that  for  his 
own  dear  sake  she  must  never  change  her  mind,  never,  never 
yield  to  his  pleading.  She  must  say  good-bye  to  this,  as  she 
had  done  in  turn  to  every  other  hope  that  had  ever  filled 
her  heart  with  transient  joy. 

Thinking  about  it  day  after  day  her  sadness  deepened 
while  her  resolution  grew  stronger.  In  imagination  she 
could  hear  people  talking  about  her  as  Basil  Everett's  wife. 
*'  Yes,"  they  would  say,  "  don't  you  remember?  He  was 
the  co-respondent  in  the  case.  The  husbai;id  failed  to 
prove  anything,  but  their  marriage  shows  how  well-founded 
were  his  suspicions.  .  .  .  Do  you  suppose  Colonel  Everett 
wanted  to  marry  her,  or  was  just  caiightf  ...  I  should 
think  it  was  the  last  thing  a  man  in  his  position  would 
want  to  do,  but  no  doubt  he  felt  he  could  not  do  anything 
else.  .  .  .  She  could  not  have  been  a  nice  woman — I  mean, 
apart  from  morality — or  she  would  not  have  accepted  the 
sacrifice.     For  she  has  ruined  his  career,  of  course." 

No,  that  should  not  happen.  Basil  must  not  have  that 
kind  of  wife.  He  must  go  on  with  his  work  untrammelled, 
and  live  to  thank  his  poor,  unhappy  Claire  for  giving 
him  a  little  pain  in  order  to  save  him  from  a  great 
regret. 

One  day  early  in  the  new  year  she  was  invited  to  Hague 
House,  and  went  there,  not  knowing  that  she  was  to  meet  a 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  379 

f  nily  assembly,  gathered  together  in  a  manner  curiously 
si  iiilar  to  that  long  bygone  council  which  considered  her 
f :  te  when  she  first  engaged  herself  to  Roddy. 

During  the  last  week  certain  members  of  the  family  had 
|:  ven  way  to  panic  fear.  The  talk  was  so  agitating  now 
t!  at  nerves  became  unstrung.  Every  day  brought  fresh 
c:  sturbing  whispers.  Mr.  Collie  junior  had  said  that 
tj  ose  people.  Glover  and  Stock,  were  absolute  fiends  in 
g  itting  up  a  case ;  it  was  known  in  Collie's  office  that  they 
h  id  "  got  hold  of  all  those  servants  at  Brighton  and  other 
])laces;"  old  Collie  suddenly  expressed  gloomy  views  of 
I  le  divorce  court  itself  as  an  arena.  He  said  he  doubted 
ii  you  could  always  be  sure  of  obtaining  justice  there, 
lie  spoke  ominously  of  the  divorce  court  atmosphere. 
I^mily  was  continually  learning  new  facts  with  regard  to 
the  intimacy  between  Colonel  Everett  and  her  sister.  She 
v^'as  severely  condemnatory  as  to  his  thoughtless  conduct. 
'''  I  must  say,  he  appears  to  have  hung  on  in  a  very  com- 
promising way ; "  and  so  forth.  Uncle  Derek  said  he 
thought  that  Everett  as  a  man  of  the  world  should 
have  been  more  circumspect.  Even  Leonard  Joyce  wav- 
ered. 

And  suppose  that  Claire — always  the  most  unworldly 
person^ — had  to  a  certain  extent  committed  herself. 
Suppose  the  poor  girl  had  done  imprudent  things.  Suppose 
she  had  been  really  foolish — "  You  understand  what  I 
mean?  Leonard  knows  that  I  simply  hate  saying  it.  But 
we  are  faced  with  such  appalling  risks  now  that  one  can- 
not hesitate.     Suppose " 

"  My  dear  Emily,"  said  old  Derek,  with  benign  tolerance. 
"  If  so,  who  could  blame  her?  " 

The  family  were  afraid.  Hence  its  assembly  on  this 
dull  foggy  afternoon ;  with  Mrs.  Gilmour  deputed,  as  the 
only  possible  spokeswoman,  "  to  sound  poor  Claire  "  for 
them,  and  then  bring  her  before  them  so  that  they  might 
tell  her  their  latest  opinion. 


380  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Mrs.  Gilraour  abhorred  her  task,  but  could  not  recoil 
from  it.  She  was  always  affectionate  and  kind  to  Claire 
in  these  days,  and  every  time  they  embraced  Claire  could 
feel  that  she  was  not  only  kissing  her  mother,  but  that 
the  person  kissed  fully  remembered  the  fact. 

Mrs.  Gilmour  received  her  in  the  morning-room,  and 
without  any  preamble  came  to  the  point. 

She  said  their  advisers  considered  that  Roddy  would 
still  be  only  too  glad  to  stay  his  hand  if  Claire  would  stay 
hers;  and  she  earnestly  appealed  to  Claire  not  to  go  on 
unless  absolutely  sure  that  she  was  safe. 

"  I  shall  try  to  understand — I  shall  understand — if  you 
tell  me  you  went  further  with  Colonel  Everett  than,  of 
course,  you  intended.  Heaven  knows  you  have  excuses. 
But  it  would  be  a  thousand  times  better  to  stop  the  whole 
thing  than  to  let  the  story  be  publicly  disclosed." 

"Mother!'' 

Claire  had  been  looking  at  her  with  large,  wondering 
eyes,  and  the  exclamation  came  like  a  cry  of  pain.  It  was 
intolerably  bitter  to  learn  that  even  her  nearest  relations 
could  doubt  her  innocence. 

"  Mother,  don't  you  believe  in  me  ?  " 

"  Claire,  my  dearest  girl,  I  do  believe.  I  have  never 
idone  otherwise.  Only  they  made  me  ask  you ;  "  and  she 
threw  her  arms  round  Claire's  neck  and  kissed  her  with 
fervent  affection.  "  Forgive  me,  Claire.  I  do  indeed 
believe  in  you." 

Then  she  led  Claire  by  the  hand  into  the  library  where 
the  others  were  waiting  for  her. 

"  She  is  going  on,"  said  Mrs.  Gilmour  firmly,  almost 
triumphantly.  "  There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  give 
in.    She  mtist  go  on  and  clear  herself." 

And  Claire  herself  told  them  that  nothing  on  earth 
would  make  her  withdraw  her  petition  now.  How  could 
she,  since  she  was  innocent,  and  withdrawal  would  imply 
guilt?     As  she  stood  there,  tall  and  straight,  with  her 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  381 

}i<  id  high  and  a  proudly  gentle  smile  on  her  lips  while  she 
1 :  )ked  at  one  and  another  of  them,  it  was  impossible  not 
t(  see,  not  to  know  that  she  was  innocent.  Indeed,  none 
c  ubted  her  any  more. 

Then  her  eyes  clouded  and  her  lips  trembled,  and 
si  e  said  something  so  touching  that  all  were  moved 
1)/  it. 

"  If — if  I  didn't  mind  for  my  own  sake,  I — I  couldn't 
<i  >  it — for  Gladys's  sake." 

Uncle  Derek  brought  out  a  brown  silk  handkerchief  and 
I>  ew  his  nose;  and  Sir  Leonard  came  across  the  room 
iripulsively  and  shook  her  hand. 

"  Claire — you're  a  brick.  Don't  be  afraid.  I  promise 
tliat  we  won't  let  you  down.'* 

He  never  lost  confidence  again,  and  he  often  spoke  of 
t  le  impression  made  upon  him  by  Claire's  aspect  as  she 
stood  facing  them  that  afternoon.  He  said  he  relied  on 
iier  making  a  precisely  similar  impression  when  she  stood 
in  the  witness-box.  "  The  jury  will  hear  her  and  see  her, 
and  they  won't  be  hoodwinked."  In  reply  to  these  assur- 
ances from  Leonard,  old  Mr.  Collie  continued  to  twaddle 
about  the  divorce  court  atmosphere.  He  even  talked  of  it 
:o  Claire  during  one  of  the  innumerable  interviews  at  the 
office,  taking  quite  unnecessary  pains  to  explain  exactly 
what  he  meant. 

"  I  do  not,  of  course,  mean  the  stuffiness  and  want  of 
air.  I  mean  the  moral  atmosphere.  That  will  be  our 
greatest  danger — the  tacit  presumption  that  all  parties 
who  get  there  are  guilty;  the  taking  it  for  granted  by 
everybody,  judges,  counsel,  clerks,  ushers,  specta- 
tors  " 

"  Yes,  yes — ^but  you  forget  we  shall  have  a  jury  too,'' 
said  Leonard,  cutting  him  short  impatiently.  "  What's 
the  good  of  trying  to  scare  her.'^  " 

"  That's  right,  father,"  said  Dick  Collie.  "  You  keep 
up  your  spirits,  Mrs.  Vaughan.'* 


382      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  By  all  means,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  I  had  not 
the  faintest  intention " 

Leonard  had  told  Claire  that  it  would  be  very  inad- 
visable for  her  to  be  seeing  Basil  Everett,  or  even  to  be 
•writing  him  letters.  Leonard  was  in  close  touch  with  him, 
and  if  Claire  had  any  communication  to  make  it  should 
be  promptly  passed  on.  But  now,  as  the  time  for  the 
hearing  of  the  case  drew  near,  she  asked  Leonard  to  ar- 
range a  meeting  between  them.  She  said  that  she  must 
see  him  once  more.  Leonard  was  very  kind  to  her  in  all 
things,  and  accordingly,  yielding  to  her  wish  although 
disapproving  of  it,  he  brought  Basil  Everett  to  his  own 
house.  Emily  kept  out  of  the  way  with  ostentatious  care 
while  Claire  and  the  visitor  met  and  conversed  for  a  little 
while  in  her  front  drawing-room. 

It  was  at  this  meeting  that  Basil  for  the  first  time  spoke 
to  her  of  his  love.  He  combated  that  resolution  of  hers 
with  ardent  force.  He  said  that  as  to  spoiling  his  life,  the 
only  real  way  to  spoil  it  would  be  by  her  refusing  to 
marry  him.  He  cared  nothing  for  his  career,  for  the 
ostracism  of  diplomatic  circles,  or  the  ill-natured  gossip 
of  vulgar  fools.  He  said  all  that  she  had  expected  him 
to  say,  but  he  did  not  in  the  least  convince  her  that  she 
was  wrong. 

"  Claire,  my  dearest,  it  isn't  true  that  people  would  fight 
shy  of  us." 

"  You  know  it's  true,  really,  Basil." 

"  I  don't.  But  if  it  is  true,  there  are  places  we  could 
go  to  where  it  would  not  matter." 

"  Basil,  this  is  good-bye.     Say  good-bye  to  me." 

But  he  would  not  say  that  word,  and  he  vowed  there 
should  be  no  Good-bye  between  them. 

"  Not  unless  you  told  me,  Claire,  you  didn't  care  for  me." 

"  Why  should  I  tell  you  that?  "  And  she  said  how  she 
loved  him.  "  Too  much,  Basil  dear,  to  be  selfish.  You  are 
the  only  unselfish  man  I  have  ever  known." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  383 

Emily,  keeping  out  of  the  way,  saw  him  go  down  the 
si  airs  sooner  than  she  had  anticipated.  She  thought, 
iv.  )re  strongly  than  Leonard,  that  this  was  very  inju- 
(1  cious ;  but  she  was  kind  and  uncritical  to  Claire,  sobbing 
I   1  alone  in  the  front  drawing-room. 

Everybody  was  kind  to  her — kinder  and  kinder  as  the 
titne  drew  closer.  Mrs.  Gilmour  insisted  that  she  should 
c  )me  to  stay  at  Hague  House,  so  that  all  their  friends 
night  see  plainly  that  the  family  were  upholding  her 
c  luse.  And  by  the  usual  means  she  procured  the  insertion 
oc  a  paragraph  in  the  Morning  Post  and  another  paper 
aanouncing  to  the  whole  world  that  "  Mrs.  Roderick 
\aughan  is  staying  with  her  mother,  Mrs.  Gilmour,  at 
irague  House,  Hague  Street,  S.W."  She  felt  that  this 
weLS  like  pinning  her  colours  to  the  mast.  Desperate  ills 
need  desperate  cures.  In  truth  she  had  travelled  far 
mentally  from  her  position  on  that  afternoon  of  a  year 
ago  when  she  made  her  famous  proviso:  Not  a  mention 
of  the  name  in  the  public  press  1 

So  Claire  slept  once  more  in  her  own  old  room,  and 
dreamed  of  the  past  as  often  as  of  the  future.  She  did  not 
entertain,  and  indeed  had  never  entertained,  a  single  doubt 
as  to  the  result  of  the  case.  Why  should  she  fear,  being 
innocent.?  Only,  more  and  more  clearly  in  all  those  inter- 
views at  the  solicitor's  offices,  she  had  come  to  understand 
the  hatefulness  of  the  ordeal  that  she  was  to  pass  through. 
And  more,  perhaps,  than  almost  any  woman  who  had 
passed  through  it  before  her,  she  dreaded  and  shrank  from 
its  ugliness. 

Two  or  three  days  before  the  end  of  the  delay  a  final 
consultation  was  held  at  the  chambers  of  her  leading 
counsel.  Sir  James  Holt.  In  the  quiet  spacious  room  there 
was  ample  accommodation  for  all  the  people  gathered  there 
without  any  sense  of  crowding.  The  company  comprised 
Claire  and  Leonard,  together  with  Emily,  who  had  in- 
sisted on  coming  "  to  keep  Claire  in  countenance ; "  both 


384      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Mr.  Collies,  and  their  managing  clerk;  Mr.  Eaton,  that 
clever  junior;  and  Sir  James's  devil,  a  Mr.  Blake,  who 
said  loudly  that  there  ought  to  have  been  many  more 
present,  and  that  he  himself  would  go  and  see  the  co- 
respondent's silk,  or  bring  him  there  by  the  ear  if  Sir 
James  wished. 

The  talk  was  very  business-like.  Everything  was 
thrashed  out.  There  was  much  hunting  for  and  examina- 
tion of  weak  spots.  During  these  processes  Claire  seemed 
for  the  most  part  forgotten;  and  she  sat  on  the  outer 
skirts  of  the  circle,  looking  at  the  pleasant  view  from  the 
windows— the  Temple  gardens,  the  mulberry-red  brick- 
work of  the  old  houses,  and  the  river  seen  through  the 
leafless  branches  of  trees  as  it  flashed  bright  and  gay  in 
the  afternoon  sunshine. 

Then  all  at  once  Sir  James  Holt  invited  her  to  draw  in, 
and  gave  her  a  prominent  position  on  the  other  side  of  his 
table.  Sir  James  was  large  and  handsome,  with  silver- 
grey  hair  and  penetrating  eyes.  He  had  a  polished,  man- 
of-the-world  manner,  and  a  pleasing  voice.  He  inspired 
confidence.  He  said  everything  was  settled,  and  he  only 
wanted  to  say  a  few  words  about  her  evidence.  He  told 
her  presently  all  about  the  leader  on  the  other  side. 

He  said  that  this  Mr.  Moberley  was  of  the  old  school — 
an  old-fashioned  style  of  advocate.  "  Full  of  tricks.  A 
regular  actor,  too.  His  speech  will  be  pompous,  heavy ; '' 
and  he  looked  round  for  confirmation. 

"  Yes,"  said  Leonard.     "  Flowery,  pompous  ass !  " 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Sir  James,  "  he's  not  an  ass.  No, 
I  am  afraid  we  mustn't  think  of  him  as  an  ass.  .  .  . 
But  now,  Mrs.  Vaughan,  it's  in  cross-examination  you  and 
he  will  make  acquaintance.  I  want  to  prepare  you,  if 
possible,  for  his  manner.  He  likes  to  browbeat  witnesses. 
He  may  shout  at  you,  slap  his  papers,  and  all  that.  But 
you  mustn't  let  yourself  be  upset  by  that.  That's  a 
bogey.     If  you  hesitate,  he'll  try  to  hustle  you.     Don't 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  385 

be  lustled.  Keep  perfectly  calm  and  collected.  I  shall 
be   chere,  of  course,  and  I'll  do  all  I  can  for  you." 

Then  Sir  James,  trying  to  forecast  the  line  of  Mr. 
Mf  berley's  cross-examination,  asked  her  a  great  many 
qi  stions — the  sort  of  questions,  as  well  as  he  could  guess, 
tl ;  t  he  thought  she  might  have  to  answer. 

iVhen  the  visitors  had  all  gone  he  said  to  his  devil, 
**^ '  that's  a  fine  woman,  Blake." 

'  Yes,"  said  Blake.  "  Good  eyes  and  a  pretty  chin. 
B 1 1  she's  on  the  thin  side — lacking  in  those  full  curves  and 
r<»inded  amplitudes  that  render  beauty- " 

"  Oh,  3^ou're  too  gross,"  said  Sir  James,  laughing.  "  I 
dlin't  meant  what  you  mean.  I  wasn't  thinking  of  her 
It.tjks.  I  meant  she's  fine  in  herself.  There's  something 
el(3vated,  unusual,  about  her.  Pity  she  couldn't  get  a 
husband  who  understood  her." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

IT  was  a  bright  March  morning,  but  very  little  sunshine 
penetrated  into  the  deep  and  narrow  court. 
The  jury  had  been  sworn  and  were  in  the  box;  all 
the  parties  to  the  case  were  seated  at  the  solicitors'  table ; 
in  the  row  of  seats  immediately  behind  the  table  the  King's 
Counsel  rustled  their  gowns  and  trifled  with  their  papers ; 
behind  them  sat  the  junior  counsel,  and  behind  them  again, 
in  the  ascending  rows  of  benches,  sat  jurymen  summoned 
but  not  employed,  witnesses,  hangers-on,  and  favoured 
members  of  the  public.  In  the  gallery  high  over  head  at 
the  back  there  was  room  for  more  sightseers.  All  were 
ready,  waiting  to  begin;  only  the  judgment  seat  remained 
empty. 

People  said  that  the  judge  was  sitting  with  the  Lord 
Chief  Justice  taking  ex  "parte  motions,  but  he  would  be 
here  directly.  At  ten  minutes  past  ten  he  had  made  a 
tantalizing  appearance,  passing  behind  his  desk  and  van- 
ishing through  a  door.  Then  one  saw  him  no  more,  and 
the  hands  of  the  big  clock  moved  slowly  on. 

People  talked  to  pass  the  time.  In  the  little  knots  of 
men  by  both  doors  and  along  those  rearward  benches  one 
heard  a  buzz  of  conversation. 

"  I'm  nearer  fifty  than  forty,  yes,  I  am.  Forty-six  '* 
.  .  .  "  Oh,  I'm  fifty-five.  Married  twenty-three  years  " 
.  .  .  **  Well,  I  can  beat  you  there.  I  was  married  at 
twenty."  And  another  voice  said  proudly,  "  I  can  beat 
you  both." 

Unemployed  special  jurymen,  together  with  curious 
friends  who  had  come  to  see  the  fun,  listened  respectfully 
as  idle  habitual  visitors  to  the  court  chatted  with  knowl- 
edge and  authority  on  legal  matters. 

386 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  387 

See  that  big  man?  That's  Moberley,  K.C.  He's  a 
fa:  •  caution,  he  is.  He  can  shake  'em  up  when  he  likes. 
Hi's  awful  on  the  witnesses — bullies  'em  sometliing  fear- 
f i.  ." 

^What's  this  case  that's  coming  on  now?  Anything 
in  it?  " 

'  No.  Shouldn't  think  so  "  ...  "  Society  people, 
aren't  they?'*  .  .  .  "Both  of  'em  up  to  their  necks 
in  it.  Six  of  one  and  a  half  a  dozen  of  the  other  ''  .  .  . 
*'  jro  and  spend  six  or  seven  thousand  pounds  when  they 
m  ght  just  as  well  have  settled  it  out  o'  court"  .  .  . 
*'  A.11  right  for  the  lawyers,  eh?  "  And  on  this  particular 
bench  the  talk  flickered  out  in  yawns. 

It  was  a  long  and  enervating  wait. 

After  an  hour  a  juryman  in  the  box  got  up  and  called 
*'  Time !  ^  Everybody  in  court  rose,  thinking  that  the 
judge  had  entered.  But  it  was  only  a  false  alarm.  The 
juryman  said  "  Time  "  again  very  loudly;  and  then,  when 
everybody  had  sat  down  and  he  found  himself  standing  all 
alone,  he  was  stricken  with  shyness  and  self-consciousness. 
Unable  to  carry  things  through  properly,  he  muttered  his 
protests  in  a  low  voice.  "  Here  we  are.  I  point  out. 
Doing  nothing.  Our  work  going  on — or  standing  still." 
...  An  usher  went  to  him  and  remonstrated.  All 
:his  created  a  little  diversion.  People  were  growing  very 
weary. 

But  the  interminable  pause  gave  Claire  an  opportunity 
Df  gradually  becoming  accustomed  to  her  surroundings. 
It  was  not  the  court  in  which  she  had  appeared  when 
praying  Roddy  to  return  to  her.  It  was  deeper,  greyer, 
darker  than  that  other  place.  Its  general  aspect  re- 
minded one  of  a  library,  or  perhaps  the  meeting-place  of 
some  new  religion,  with  its  bookcases,  wood-carving,  desks, 
and  pulpit-like  enclosures.  She  was  sitting  between 
Leonard  Joyce  and  Dick  Collie,  who  had  masses  of  papers 
and  kept  bringing  still  more  from  a  bag  between  his  knees ; 


388  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

maps  too,  and  tracings,  until  a  barrier  of  documents  built 
itself  on  the  table  in  front  of  her.  Beyond  Leonard,  on 
her  right,  there  was  a  man  who  belonged  to  the  co-respond- 
ent ;  and  beyond  him,  the  co-respondent  himself.  He  had 
smiled  at  her  and  spoken  to  her  just  now;  and  she  could 
see  his  side-face,  strong,  clear-cut — the  face  of  a  soldier 
among  all  these  soft,  mobile  faces  of  the  men  of  law.  Far 
away  on  her  left,  sat  Roddy  with  his  aiders  and  abetters. 
She  could  see  his  side-face  too — heavy  and  ugly,  the  grey 
hair  shewing  above  a  fat  ear. 

She  could  hear  immediately  behind  her  the  voice  of  Sir 
James  Holt,  her  champion  in  chief.  He  touched  her  on  the 
shoulder  once,  said  something  to  her,  and  then  resumed  his 
conversation  with  Mr.  Moberley,  the  leader  for  the  enemy. 
This  fraternizing  between  the  hostile  forces  surprised  her. 

Leonard  asked  her  if  she  really  understood  the  pro- 
cedure; and  by  way  of  killing  time  told  her  all  about  it 
again.  Her  suit  would  be  heard  first ;  and  since  the  deser- 
tion and  mis-conduct  were  admitted,  it  would  be  mere 
formalities.  It  would  take  no  time  at  all.  Directly  it  was 
over  the  husband's  suit  would  start.  The  jury  would  not 
at  that  point  be  asked  to  give  their  answers  on  the  first 
suit;  all  the  questions  would  be  left  to  them  to  answer 
together  when  both  suits  were  finished. 

Then  Leonard  got  up  to  stretch  himself  and  knocked 
down  most  of  Collie's  documents.  Collie  was  getting 
through  the  time  with  a  blue  and  a  red  pencil.  "  Sorry,'* 
said  Leonard.  "  I  am  looking  for  your  mother,  Claire — • 
and  Emily.  They  are  right  at  the  back.  .  .  .  Now  I've 
got  them.  Your  mother  is  wearing  a  lot  of  black  ostrich 
feathers  in  her  hat,  isn't  she?  .  .  .  Oh,  Emily  is  stand- 
ing up.  I  wish  she  wouldn't  do  that.  Makes  her  so  con- 
spicuous," and  Leonard  himself  sat  down. 

The  hands  of  the  big  clock  moved  slower  and  slower.  It 
was  half-past  eleven.  Then  suddenly  the  judge  reap- 
peared— rapidly  crossing  the  bench — going  to  change  his 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  889 

rc(    robe,  people  said.    "  Yes,  it's  always  a  black  robe  for 
di^  orce '*     ..."  Same  idea  as  the  black  cap,  ehf  " 

Chen  a  few  minutes  later  the  judge  returned — in  black. 
T I  ere  was  a  cry  of  "  Silence ! "  and  all  rose  to  welcome 
h:i  1  and  watch  him  take  his  seat.  He  said  he  was  sorry  for 
tl  ^  delay.  But  he  could  not  be  in  two  places  at  once.  He 
hal  been  employed  in  another  court. 

Claire  recognized  him  immediately  as  a  man  who  used 
to  come  to  her  mother's  dinner-parties  at  Hague  House 
years  ago.  She  remembered  him  quite  well — and  his  wife 
to^,  plump  little  middle-aged  woman,  with  an  amethyst 
necklace.  She  felt  a  sense  of  comfort,  if  not  pleasure,  in 
tins  recognition ;  it  changed  the  arbiter  of  her  fate  from  a 
Di3re  symbolic  figure  to  a  fellow  human  being. 

Now  that  he  had  at  last  arrived,  counsel  not  engaged  in 
li(?r  case  got  up  and  talked  to  him  about  other  cases. 

Then  somebody  was  reading  out  something  with  the 
rame  of  Vaughan  in  it — "  Issue  joined  " — and  so  on;  and 
next  moment  Sir  James  Holt  was  talking  in  a  quiet,  con- 
'versational  style  just  behind  her  back,  saying  he  would 
not  take  long — "  If  gentlemen  of  the  jury  will  give  me 
iheir  attention  for  a  few  minutes  "     .    .    . 

It  had  begun. 

Claire  felt  a  tightening  of  the  nerves,  a  reaction  of  the 
fikin,  and  a  catch  of  the  breath,  as  if  she  had  been  plunged 
into  cold  water.  But  she  was  glad.  It  was  the  end  of  that 
'  ong  torment  of  waiting — not  only  these  last  two  years, 
5ut  the  year  before  that,  and  all  the  other  years  before 
Lhat. 

Very  quietly  and  pleasantly  Sir  James  told  the  jury 
how  Roddy  had  left  her  and  how  she  had  wanted  him  to 
come  back  and  he  would  not.  He  spoke  as  a  man  speaks 
when  he  stands  on  a  hearth-rug  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 
narrating  something  to  friends.  But  when  he  talked  of 
the  letter  that  Claire  had  written  to  her  absent  husband, 
there  came  a  vibration  in  his  voice.    He  said  he  thought 


390      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

it  would  strike  everybody  as  the  most  pathetically  touch- 
ing letter  that  a  woman  ever  wrote  to  a  man.  He  read  it 
aloud;  and  his  voice  sounded  now  as  if  he  was  struggling 
to  prevent  sympathy  from  deepening  to  emotion.  When 
he  spoke  of  Roddy's  answer  to  the  letter  he  startled  Claire. 
She  would  not  have  believed  that  he  could  speak  so  sternly. 
He  said  he  thought  most  people  would  designate  it  as 
about  as  brutal  an  answer  as  a  man  ever  made  to  a  woman. 

However,  he  did  not  wish  to  express  any  opinions  of  his 
own;  certainly  he  did  not  wish  to  be  grandiloquent. 
What  he  did  wish  was  to  be  very  brief.  So  he  resumed  his 
ordinary  man-of-the-world  manner  and  went  on  talking 
pleasantly  and  easily;  just  narrating  the  facts,  and  finally 
saying  that  with  full  confidence  he  asked  for  the  relief  to 
which  Claire  was  entitled. 

She  looked  at  the  clock.  Those  hands  had  been  racing. 
It  was  nearly  one  o'clock. 

Leonard  knocked  down  more  papers  and  drew  her  gently 
by  the  arm ;  Basil  Everett  stood  up  to  let  her  pass ;  and 
she  was  in  the  witness-box,  swearing  to  tell  the  truth  and 
nothing  but  the  truth. 

Then,  in  reply  to  the  courteous  questions  of  Sir  James, 
she  deposed  to  such  necessary  facts  as  that  she  was  mar- 
ried to  Roddy;  that  they  were  husband  and  wife;  that 
they  had  thus  lived  together;  that  the  date  on  the  copy 
of  the  marriage  certificate  was  correct ;  and  so  on. 

She  was  nervous.  The  witness-box  seemed  giddily  high 
above  the  well  of  the  court,  and  the  walls  at  a  great 
distance.  It  was  as  if  the  court  had  expanded  into  a  vast 
arena.  She  looked  down  at  a  wide,  vague  sea  of  faces. 
When  she  first  spoke,  her  voice  seemed  to  her  harsh  and 
immensely  loud ;  its  echoes  rolled  away  like  thunder.  And 
her  confusion  increased  when  she  could  not  hear  what  Sir 
James  was  saying  to  her;  she  had  to  make  him  repeat  it, 
and  was  amazed  to  find  that  he  was  asking  her  to  speak 
up.     The  judge  was  making  the  same  request;  he  was 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  391 

le.i  ling  towards  her.  He  also  asked  her  presently  not  to 
sp(  ak  so  fast;  evidently  he  was  writing  down  all  her 
ai   wers. 

•  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Vaughan,"  said  Sir  James.  "That 
is   lU.'' 

instinctively  she  turned  to  leave  the  witness-box,  but 
til'   judge  said,  "no,  no.     Remain,  please.'' 

Then  Mr.  Moberley,  K.C.,  rose  and  said  that  as  the 
wi  ness  was  going  into  the  box  again  he  would  reserve  his 
C3  )Ss-examination  till  then,  considering  this  the  most  con- 
\it  lient  thing  to  do.  Of  course  he  relied  on  the  assurance 
or  his  learned  friend  that  he  was  really  going  to  put  her 
ir  :o  the  box  again.  Equally  of  course,  this  and  everything 
else  was  all  as  his  lordship  pleased.  Then  Sir  James  and 
]\Ir.  Moberley  bobbed  up  and  down  alternately  while  the 
j  c  dge  talked  to  them ;  and  a  long  discussion  ensued,  during 
T^  Iiich  Claire  seemed  to  be  utterly  forgotten  again.  The 
judge  said  his  great  aim  and  object  was  economy  of  time, 
and  he  proceeded  to  tell  each  of  them  in  turn  exactly  what 
he  divined  as  to  their  intended  method  of  conducting  their 
cases ;  and  both  complimented  him  on  his  extraordinary 
good  guesses.  He  seemed  gratified;  but  then  he  debated 
with  them  whether  they  could  not  improve  on  the  plan, 
f  Jways  with  regard  to  the  avoidance  of  waste  of  time  and 
yet  not  running  the  risk  of  complication  or  difficulty. 

Claire,  no  longer  the  centre  of  attention,  had  recovered 
i'uU  composure.  From  her  coign  of  vantage  she  looked 
down  reflectively.  She  saw  empty  seats.  There  were  not 
many  people  in  court  really,  and  those  who  were  there 
ieemed  bored.  They  yawned  and  drifted  away  while  she 
ooked  at  them.  The  jury  sat  huddled  and  weary,  as  if 
they  had  been  there  all  night  and  were  worn  out. 

Claire  took  this  chance  of  studying  Mr.  Moberley.  He 
was  a  big,  stout  man  of  fifty  or  more,  apparently  somewhat 
short  of  breath.  After  talking  volubly  he  grew  warm  and 
flushed,  and  more  out  of  breath,  like  a  man  who  has  been 


392  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

running.  Claire  noticed  his  bushy  eyebrows  and  his  broad, 
coarse  checks.  His  diction  and  utterance  were  those  of 
an  essentially  common  person  who  has  educated  himself 
with  great  care  but  rather  late  in  life.  He  had  a  confident 
smile,  as  if  sure  that  he  was  ingratiating  himself  with 
everybody  present,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  sycophantic 
ecstasy  in  his  way  of  saying  "  As  your  lordship  pleases,'* 
It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  he  could  be  clever. 

The  discussion  ended,  and  the  court  abruptly  ad- 
journed. It  was  half -past  one.  The  judge,  having  started 
so  late,  had  sat  longer  than  usual,  and  he  said  they  must 
resume  business  "  at  two-fifteen  sharp J"^ 

Leonard,  after  coming  to  rescue  Claire  from  the  wit- 
ness-box, led  her  through  long  corridors  to  a  vaguely 
crowded  room  where  she  could  have  some  food.  But  she 
was  too  excited  and  anxious  to  eat. 

On  the  resumption  of  the  hearing  another  delay  oc- 
curred. They  were  kept  waiting,  not  by  the  judge,  but  by 
that  juryman  who  had  protested  and  said  "  Time."  How- 
ever, the  delay  was  slight,  for  the  defaulting  juryman 
soon  arrived,  breathless  and  apologetic,  and  was  hurried 
into  the  box,  where  he  trod  upon  the  toes  of  his  companions 
while  the  judge  reproved  him. 

This  afternoon  evidence  was  given  by  an  hotel  manager^ 
a  chambermaid,  and  a  night  porter,  in  regard  to  Roddy's* 
visit  to  the  hotel  with  an  unknown  lady.  Roddy  had  to 
stand  up,  and  the  witnesses  swore  he  was  the  man.  Then 
Claire  was  told  to  stand  up  and  they  swore  she  was  not 
the  lady. 

The  progress  was  very  slow.  It  seemed  to  Claire  that 
all  conspired  to  make  it  slow.  Nothing  was  ever  taken  for 
granted;  the  most  obvious  things  had  to  be  inquired  into. 
Moreover,  everything  that  anybody  wanted,  such  as  a 
date,  a  letter,  a  book,  was  always  missing ;  and  in  the  hunt 
and  the  tumbling  and  rummaging  of  papers  the  seeds  were 
being  sown  for  rich  harvests  of  future  delays.    Everybody, 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  S9» 

to  ,  said  things  three  or  four  times  instead  of  once.  Often 
th  witness  could  not  hear  counsel's  questions,  counsel 
cci  Id  not  hear  the  witness's  answer,  and  the  judge  could 
n(  hear  either.  Also  difficulty  was  occasioned  by  counsel 
f r  ming  questions  in  such  a  manner  that  when  witnesses 
h(  rd  them  best  they  understood  them  least.  How  could 
it   ye  otherwise  than  slow? 

iTet  notwithstanding  all  this,  Claire  felt  respect,  if  not 
adniration  for  the  laborious,  painstaking  manner  of  the 
p  )cess  by  which  the  facts  were  searched  and  sifted  out. 
It  was  the  grinding  of  a  mill  that  would  pass  nothing 
uii  crushed.  Ignorant  as  she  was,  she  seemed  to  know  that 
Hi  judge  was  competent,  acute,  and  watchful.  She  under- 
stood several  times  when  he  pointed  out  the  logical  drift 
oj  things,  and  believed  that  Sir  James's  profuse  thanks  for 
h  s  assistance  were  genuine.  Their  slowness  began  to 
si  lengthen  her  confidence.  It  made  them  the  more  certain 
to  establish  the  truth.  She  thought,  "  Great  is  the  truth ; 
aid  here,  at  least,  it  shall  prevail." 

Thus  at  the  end  of  the  first  day  she  felt  that  things  had 
b  3en  painful  but  satisfactory ;  and  as  Leonard  Joyce  hur- 
r  ed  her  away  from  the  court,  she  asked  him  to  confirm 
her  impressions. 

"  Everything  is  all  right,  isn't  it,  Leonard.?  '* 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  It  has  gone  in  my  favour  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  know,  Claire,  it  hasn't  begun  yet,"  said 
liConard. 

They  had  a  little  dinner-party  at  Hague  House  that 
reminded  one  of  the  happy  old  days.  Belton  with  fault- 
1  ?ss  manners  waited  on  them  as  if  he  did  not  know  what 
T-as  happening,  or  why  his  mistress  had  all  the  evening 
j-apers  on  each  side  of  her  on  the  table.  Emily  was  gay; 
( Id  Derek  benignantly  cheerful.  Mr»»  Gilmour  herself  waa 
^  aliant,  staunch,  and  optimistic. 

"  The  Pall  Molly'*  she  whispered,  "  calls  it  a  Divorce 


39*  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Court  Tangle.^*  Then,  when  Belton  had  gone,  she  spoke 
freely.  ^'  Claire,  I  like  Sir  James.  He  is  such  a  gentle- 
man. And  what  a  piece  of  luck  coming  before  Sir  Henry 
— a  very  old  friend,  though  I  have  not  seen  him  in  these 
last  years!  Did  I  tell  you  that  Mrs.  Drysdale  was  in 
-court?  Wasn't  it  nice  of  her  to  come?  She  wanted  to 
support  you.  She  sent  her  love."  Then  Mrs.  Gilmour 
advised  Claire  to  go  to  bed  and  make  a  long  night.  "  Re- 
member, it  is  not  over  yet.    You  have  much  before  you." 

Claire  slept  better  that  night  than  she  had  done  for 
months.  But  truly  her  ordeal  was  not  yet  over.  She  had 
much  before  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

'^  ^k  "T  OW,  Claire,"  whispered  Leonard,  "  sit  tight.    Re- 

1^^  member,  this  is  his  tale.  Our  tale  comes  later." 
Immediately  on  the  resumption  of  the  hearing, 
3Ir.  Moberley  had  risen  to  open  the  husband's  case. 

He  started  in  a  confidential  manner,  as  though  the  jury 
ad  told  him  they  were  puzzled  all  yesterday  and  had 
egged  him  to  explain  things  to  them. 

He  said  the  marriage  had  been  a  love  match,  and  these 
voung  people  married  with  every  prospect  of  happiness. 
l^hey  were  highly  placed,  moving  in  the  best  society,  sur- 
rounded with  crowds  of  friends  and  relations.  The  future 
lay  in  their  own  hands.  But  all  chance  of  solid  felicity 
was  shipwrecked,  as  he  believed  would  presently  appear, 
because  of  the  disposition  of  one  party  to  the  contract — 
the  wife.  An  attempt  might  be  made — he  did  not  know — 
but  he  thought  quite  possibly  an  attempt  might  be  made  to 
arouse  prejudice 

"Why  not  wait  and  find  out?"  said  Sir  James  Holt, 
rather  rudely. 

"  Please  do  not  interrupt  me,"  said  Mr.  Moberley,  with 
dignity.  "  I  have  shown  great  courtesy  to  you,  and  I 
must  beg  you  also  to  restrain  yourself." 

Then  he  went  on  again.  He  said  he  had  been  saying 
when  interrupted — and  he  paused  and  looked  round  at  Sir 
James,  as  if  at  a  dog  that  had  barked  at  him;  he  had 
been  saying  that  some  effort  might  be  essayed  to  create 
prejudice  in  the  minds  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury  by  the 
allegation  or  insinuation  that  the  husband  was  influenced 
by  mercenary  motives ;  was  less  wealthy  than  the  wife. 
But  nothing  could  be  further  from  a  true  appreciation  of 
the  conditions.  So  far  as  fortune  went  at  the  time  of  the 
marriage,  the  disparity  of  fortune  was  all  the  other  way 

395 


S96  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

round.  "  Here  was  a  fashionable  young  man,  with  the 
greatest  expectations,  heir  presumptive  to  his  uncle — who 
was  perhaps  the  richest  baronet  in  England;  courted, 
feted  by  all.  To  use  the  common  phrase,  in  a  position  to 
pick  and  choose  a  wife — to  throw  his  handkerchief  wher- 
ever fancy  guided  his  hand."  On  the  score  of  birth  he 
was  equally  the  superior;  for  whereas  the  wife  belonged 
to  the  rich  commercial  classes,  the  husband  traced  his 
descent  from  what  have  properly  been  considered  the  high- 
est in  the  realm — the  great  feudal  territorial  families. 

"  But,  as  I  have  said,  it  was  a  love  match — love  on  both 
sides ; — on  one  side  love  of  a  volcanic  character.  As  a  fact 
— there  can  be  no  dispute  about  it, — this  young  lady  took 
the  extreme  measure  of  running  away  from  home  and 
placing  herself  under  the  protection  of  my  client,  before 
the  marriage.  Please  do  not  interrupt  m.e.  I  have  no  wish 
to  dwell  upon  this,  or  in  any  way  exaggerate  its  impor- 
tance. I  may  have  to  refer  to  it  again  probably  in  due 
course.  All  that  is  necessary  to  tell  your  lordship  and 
gentlemen  of  the  jury  now  is  that  my  client  regularized 
the  situation  as  soon  as  possible — ^by  the  marriage." 

The  blood  had  rushed  to  Claire's  face,  and  instinctively 
she  hid  it  in  her  hands.  Sir  James  was  on  his  feet  pro- 
testing. For  a  little  while  he  and  Mr.  Moberley  and  the 
judge  all  seemed  to  be  talking  together.  She  raised  her 
head,  compressed  her  lips,  and  tried  to  catch  every  word. 
The  judge  was  talking  alone  now — speaking  of  his  horror 
of  allowing  the  issues  to  be  widened  in  all  directions,  and 
his  equal  horror  of  shutting  out  matters  relevant  and  es- 
sential to  one's  adequate  comprehension.  He  reminded 
them  that  the  time  at  their  disposal  could  not  be  treated 
€is  limitless.  But  on  the  whole,  he  confessed  that  he  did 
not  see  ho,w,  if  you  are  telling  a  story,  you  can  be  pre- 
vented from  starting  it  at  the  beginning. 

Then  Mr.  Moberley  went  on  again.  He  said  that  before 
the  case  was   over,  there  might  also  be  an  attempt  to 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  397 

i  eate  prejudice  by  the  hint  that  the  husband  had  wilfully 
(!  ssipated  the  wife's  fortune.  Again  nothing  could  be 
:  .rther  from  the  truth.  He  was  a  man  of  indomitable 
r  lergy  and  untiring  industry.    He  passed  from  one  enter- 

rise  to  another,  never  sparing  himself,  actuated  always 

Y  the  same  motive — to  maintain  his  wife  in  the  position 
c  f  luxurious  comfort  to  which  she  was  accustomed ;  to  give 
er  all  the  good  things  of  this  world.  His  enterprises  were 
nfortunate.  But  a  husband's  misfortune  did  not  supply 
3  reason  or  an  excuse  for  a  wife  to  forget  or  break  the  vows 
to  which  she  was  solemnly  sworn.  No,  certainly  not* 
I/Iisfortune  should  have  drawn  them  together  rather  thaa 
})ushed  them  apart.  As  the  prayer  book  says,  it  is  for 
better,  for  worse. 

Why  then — he  asked  again — ^had  this  marriage  come  to 
}'uin  and  grief?  He  had  no  hesitation  in  tracing  the 
.'ailure  to  the  temperament  of  the  wife;  he  had  no  fear 
of  any  kind  in  endeavouring  to  show,  and  to  ask  them 
to  adopt  the  view,  that  no  other  explanation  of  the  failure 
was  possible. 

During  the  absence  of  the  husband  fighting  for  his 
country  or  on  public  service,  the  wife,  in  a  fine-lady  sort  of 
way,  did  war  work.  As  his  lordship  and  the  gentlemen 
of  the  jury  knew  perfectly  well,  there  was  war  work  and 
war  work.  Some  people  gave  their  all,  including  life  itself  ; 
others  filled  in  their  idle  hours  with  occasional  assistance 
to  the  great  cause.  Mrs.  Vaughan,  with  other  fashionable 
ladies,  assisted  off  and  on  at  a  hospital — at  a  hospital 
in  Arlington  Street  instituted  by  the  Countess  of  Pevensea.- 

"  Here  she  met  a  young  attractive  officer — the  co-res- 
pondent.  I  have  said  ^  met  him.'  But  in  fact  they  had  met 
before.  He  was  a  friend  of  her  relatives.  They  had  been 
acquainted  in  youth.  Perhaps  it  may  be  thought  that  they 
had  been  boy  and  girl  sweethearts.  I  do  not  make  the 
suggestion.  I  do  jiot  make  any  suggestions  of  that  kind,. 
At  any  rate,  life  had  separated  them,  and  they  met  agaia 


598      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

— renewed  acquaintance — under  these  romantic  circum- 
stances. 

"  It  was  evident  to  the  minds  of  all  observers  that  an 
immense  sympathy  appeared  to  have  arisen  between  them. 
They  were  never  tired  of  talking  to  one  another.  They 
had  their  little  jokes  and  confidences  in  which  others  might 
not  share."  He  would  prove  that  her  attendance  at  the 
hospital  at  once  became  more  assiduous.  The  attendance 
book  would  show  every  date.  He  would  call  witnesses  to 
show  that  she  knew  no  weariness  in  attending  to  this  par- 
ticular patient.  In  due  course  all  this  watchful  care  had 
its  reward.  The  gallant  young  soldier  was  put  upon  his 
legs  and  fit  to  leave  the  hospital.     He  left  it. 

And  then  what  happened?  Mrs,  Vaughan  never  did 
an  hour^s  duty  at  the  hospital  again.  Never  crossed  the 
threshold — never  went  there  at  all — not  once!  Really  he 
must  pause  for  a  moment  to  dwell  on  this.  He  could  not 
go  rushing  on,  because  it  all  did  seem  to  him  so  extraordi- 
narily diflScult  to  explain  except  in  one  way.  You  had 
this  significant  series  of  facts.  Until  Colonel  Everett  is 
admitted  to  the  hospital  Mrs.  Vaughan  goes  there,  we  will 
not  say  once  in  a  blue  moon,  but  perhaps  once  or  twice  in 
a  week,  with  sometimes  long  intervals  between  the  weeks. 
Colonel  Everett  arrives  on  the  scene,  and  it  is  not  a  ques- 
tion of  her  visits  being  rather  more  frequent ;  she  goes  there 
every  day.  She  is  there  every  day,  and  all  night  too.  For 
eight  or  nine  or  even  ten  nights  running  she  is  there.  Then 
— then  Colonel  Everett  is  discharged  from  the  hospital^ 
and  the  hospital  never  sees  her  again. 

After  saying  this  he  paused,  opened  his  hands,  and 
stared  at  the  jury  with  a  helpless  expression,  as  of  a 
man  staggered  by  the  bigness  of  the  phenomenon  that 
faced  him.  Then  he  smiled.  "  Very  well,  we  wull  leave  it  at 
that.  She  does  not  go  there  again.  No,  her  interest  in  all 
the  good  work  done  at  that  hospital  has  vanished." 

And  he  went  on  to  say  one  might  suppose  that,  the 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  399 

li  V  between  nurse  and  patient  being  now  broken  by  the 
CO  nplete  cure  of  the  latter,  this  lady  and  gentleman  would 
s<  no  more  of  each  other.  On  the  contrary.  The  affec- 
ts n  between  them  led  to  many  meetings.  And  this  was  to 
b  noted.  All  who  saw  them  together  appear  to  have  de- 
t  3ted  the  affection.  Their  mutual  manner  drew  attention. 
If  they  were  making  any  effort  to  conceal  the  attraction 
i\  at  each  exercised  over  the  other,  they  were  unsuccessful. 
Jj  e  had  a  mass  of  evidence  to  present  in  support  of  what 
L  i  was  saying,  and  in  its  proper  sequence  he  would  present 
it. 

He  said  he  came  now  to  a  part  of  the  case  which  he 
might  call  the  psychological  part  of  the  case.  There  was 
a  female  relative  of  the  respondent,  a  spinster  aunt,  a  Miss 
Crraham;  and  without  scruple  he  described  her  as  a  very 
sinister  influence — an  influence  that  to  his  mind  had  played 
B.  large  part  iu  weaving  the  tragic  overthrow  of  all  these 
lives. 

Then  he  gave  a  sketch  of  Aunt  Agnes  as  a  woman  of 
such  advanced  views  that  she  was  prepared  to  go  to  all 
lengths  in  the  subversal  of  our  present  social  system. 
She  was  a  woman  without  a  shred  of  religion,  if  she  was 
not  an  avowed  atheist.  She  belonged  to  societies  whose 
sole  aim.  was  to  shatter  what  they  termed  the  old-fashioned 
code  of  ethics  that  governed  ordinary  citizens.  If  she  did 
not  actually  advocate  the  introduction  of  free  love,  she  at 
least  denounced  the  trammels  of  our  marriage  law.  And  he 
quoted  words  from  a  memorial  to  a  secretary  of  state  which 
Miss  Graham  and  many  other  people  had  signed. 

..."  I  sugge'St  that  if  a  young  woman  was  in  danger 
of  having  her  principles  sapped  and  her  virtue  under- 
mined, there  would  be  no  more  dangerous  companion — no 
companion  more  likely  to  throw  her  weight  into  the  scale 
of  passion  as  against  the  scale  of  law  and  order,  and  push 
her  niece  over  the  brink.  As  a  matter  of  indisputable  fact, 
the  young  woman  and  the  old  woman  were  at  this  time 


400  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

.almost  constant  companions.  Miss  Graham  was  far  too 
shrewd  a  person  not  to  see  what  was  going  on  under  her 
nose;  and  my  suggestion,  my  contention  is  that  she  ap- 
proved and  abetted.  She  acted  as  go-between.  Not  as 
dupe.  Far  from  it.  She  knew;  and  I  think  that  as  men 
of  the  world  you,  with  me,  will  draw  the  plain  inference 
that  she  perfectly  understood  how  it  all  would  end,  she 
wished  it  so  to  end,  she  meant  it  so  to  end." 

And  he  went  on  to  say  that  in  establishing  misconduct 
■of  the  character  alleged,  you  have  to  consider  a  normal 
process  of  Inclination  towards  the  lawless  love.  Infidelity 
in  thought  towards  the  husband.  Infidelity  in  deed. 
*'  When  you  have  the  two  former,  the  next  thing  you  have 
to  look  for  is  Opportunity.'^  He  should  show  that  the  op- 
portunity existed.  He  should  ask  them  to  find  that  the 
opportunity  was  availed  of;  that  this  miguided  lady — 
this  ardent  young  woman,  driven  by  her  ow  i  temperament, 
•egged  on  and  abetted  by  one  who  ought  to  have  known  bet- 
ter, did  pass  from  the  realm  of  merely  longing  and  craving 
to  the  full  satisfaction  of  her  desire — from  the  thought 
of  guilt  to  the  fact  of  guilt.  In  regard  to  the  two  dates 
on  which  specific  acts  of  misconduct  were  alleged  to  have 
been  committed  at  the  house  in  Brighton  and  a^.  the  co- 
respondent's private  chambers  in  London,  he  belie  ed  there 
would  be  no  getting  away  from  it. 

And  Claire  thought,  with  a  hot  throbbing  in  her  brain : 
**  He  said  all  that  about  me.  He  is  not  talking  of  some 
poor  fallen  creature  that  I  read  of  in  a  book.  He  used 
those  words  in  speaking  of  me.''  She  knew  now,  better 
than  the  old  solicitor  could  explain  it,  the  meaning  of  "  the 
divprce  court  atmosphere."  It  was  through  that  medium 
that  those  twelve  men  over  there  were  looking  at  her. 
Through  its  foully-laden  waves  all  these  words  came  to 
iheir  ears.  Because  of  its  slowly  gyrating  particles  al- 
ways moving  round  and  round  this  dusty  shadowy  well, 
into  which  the  sunlight  never  pierced  and  no  breath  of  pure 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  401 

tail  ever  came,  vague,  unsubstantial  things  and  solid,  im- 
mv  able  things  were  all  alike.  Nothing  seen  in  it  could 
pr.  }erve  its  natural  aspect  and  proportions;  all  must  be 
di;    orted  and  fantastic. 

Vhile  the  blood  continued  to  beat  against  her  temples, 
sh^  ceased  to  listen.  She  thought  of  quite  unimportant 
thiigs.  This  morning  there  had  been  many  more  people 
in  court  than  yesterday;  and  now  she  knew  that  it  was 
full  to  overflowing.  Not  once  had  she  looked  round;  but 
«!<•  could  feel  close-pressed  ranks  a  little  way  behind  her. 
There  were  women  there.  To  her  right  a  small  crowd 
blocked  the  floor.  A  benevolent-looking  man  in  a  grey 
suit,  grey-haired,  elderly,  standing  near  the  book-case 
by  the  clock,  kept  smiling  and  nodding  his  head  approv- 
iiL^ly  at  €ach  point  made  in  the  counsePs  speech.  Claire's 
attention  was  fascinated  by  him.  He  was  there,  a  long 
tune.  Then  in  a  moment  he  was  gone.  Claire  began  to 
listen  again. 

Mr.  Moberley  was  finishing  a  dissertation  on  Familiari- 
ties. By  familiarities,  he  explained,  he  did  not  mean  in- 
decencies. No,  he  meant  only  what  he  had  already  re- 
ferred to.  He  meant  the  outward  signs  of  regard.  He 
laeant  those  indications  of  a  too  friendly  relation  that  you 
c[uite  legitimately  sought  for  when  you  were  asking  your- 
self whether  or  not  an  illicit  intercourse  in  truth  existed. 
When  you  notice  smoke  you  know  there  is  fire.  When  you 
see  straws  all  going  in  one  direction  you  know  which  way 
:he  wind  is  blowing.  Well,  that  was  so  in  regard  to  this 
ady  and  gentleman.  Wherever  they  went — in  London  or 
at  the  seaside — and  it  was  to  be  remarked  that  the  old 
woman  was  generally  with  them — gentlemen  of  the  jury 
already  knew  what  to  make  of  her — "  She  is  the  Martha 
and  the  Mephistopheles  of  the  drama  rolled  into  one  "— 
wherever  these  two  and  their  shadow  were  seen,  the  indica- 
tions were  observed,  suspicion  was  aroused.  Yes,  lots  of 
smoke ;  any  quantity  of  straws. 


402  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Here  was  an  instance — perhaps  it  was  as  striking  an 
instance  as  you  could  expect  to  encounter.  A  doctor  is 
called  into  the  house  and  meets  these  two  people  for  the 
first  time.  He  has  never  seen  them  before — has  never 
heard  of  their  existence  till  a  few  hours  before.  He  goes 
there  and  is  received  by  them ;  and  at  once  mistakes  them 
for  husband  and  wife.  From  his  observation  of  the  famili- 
arities passing  between  them  he  assumes  that  that  is  the 
relation,  that  it  cannot  be  any  other  relation,  and  he  so 
addresses  them.  There  are  other  people  present.  They 
all  notice  the  doctor's  mistake.  But  now  is  not  this  na- 
tural assumption  of  the  doctor's  very  remarkable  in  one 
way — ^very  striking,  as  has  been  said?  The  more  signifi- 
cant, the  more  you  think  of  it.  Physicians — ^he  is  a  physi- 
cian— a  very  well-known  physician — highly  trained  and 
eminent  physicians  do  not  make  mistakes  of  that  sort  with- 
out good  cause.  The  faculty  of  diagnosis  is  their  strong- 
est force.  To  use  the  colloquial  term,  they  "  size  up  "  a 
situation  with  astounding  perspicuity.  Well,  that  is  how 
he  sizes  up  this  situation.  He  sees  this  man  and  this 
woman,  and  sizes  them  up  as  husband  and  wife.  Can't 
be  anything  else — going  on  as  they  are.  Really  famous 
physician — ^no  secret  about  his  name — Dr.  Rice-Wilcox 
— probably  known  to  many  people  in  court — now  here — 
or  coming  here — to  tell  his  lordship  and  gentlemen  of  the 
jury  in  his  own  words  just  what  happened. 

And  again  Claire  ceased  to  listen.  Her  shame  and  dis- 
tress had  passed  into  a  deeper  pain.  The  doctor's  name 
had  evoked  swift  pictures  of  that  terrible  night  when 
reason  itself  left  her  in  the  agony  of  her  loss.  For  a  time 
now  her  thoughts  revolved  on  a  wheel  of  torture.  Memories 
that  had  seemed  almost  dead  sprang  into  burning  life  and 
wrapped  her  in  flame. 

When  she  listened  again  Mr.  Moberley  was  talking 
about  Roddy. 

He  was  saying  that  so  far  Roddy  had  no  suspicions  of 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  403 

anj  impropriety  between  his  wife  and  the  co-respondent. 
Ro<i  ly  did  not  know  the  co-respondent,  could  not  remem- 
ber 3ver  to  have  heard  of  him.  But  what  he  did  know, 
wh^-  .  he  was  loth  to  recognize  and  for  a  lengthy  period 
str  I  ^gled  not  to  believe — was  the  coldness  and  neglect 
to  \  hich  his  wife  began  to  subject  him. 

Listening  now  to  this  fantastic  and  preposterous  story 
of  er  own  life,  Claire  had  the  sensation  that  the  speaker 
po^.  essed  a  supernatural  knowledge  of  its  minutest  details. 
Ke  (  wing  all,  he  was  choosing  his  materials  and  warping 
and  twisting  them  to  his  purpose  with  diabolical  ingenuity. 
Everything  he  said  was  utterly  false  and  yet  it  sounded 
triji.  So  abominably  true,  even  to  her  ear,  that  she  herself 
had  to  fight  the  illusion  of  its  being  a  fairly  accurate  state- 
ment of  events. 

Trhings,  he  said,  had  come  to  such  a  pass  before  Roddy 
left  for  America,  that  some  vague  general  suspicion  did 
at  last  enter  the  husband's  mind,  and  on  the  eve  of  de- 
parture Roddy  charged  her  with  her  lack  of  affection  for 
him,  and  asked  her  this  specific  question:  Why  had  she 
turned  against  him?  As  she  returned  an  evasive  or  un- 
satisfactory answer,  he  asked  her  in  the  most  solemn 
manner  a  further  question.  Had  she  allowed  anybody  else 
to  enter  into  her  life  and  take  his  place?  And  she  had 
then  given  him  a  solemn  assurance  that  there  was  nobody 
el^e,  and  there  never  would  be  anybody  else. 

Roddy  had  frankly  accepted  her  assurance  and  had  gone 
a  ray  with  as  light  a  heart  as  a  man  can  be  expected  to 
carry  in  the  circumstances — that  was  to  say,  when  a  man 
ib  leaving  his  home  and  country,  to  cross  the  waste  of 
o  lean,  and  undertake  hardship  and  toil  in  a  distant  land, 
^t  any  rate,  his  suspicions  were  lulled  and  allayed.  He 
hid  not  that  added  burden  of  care  on  his  shoulders.     He 

V  as  willing  to  believe — he  did  believe  that  his  honour  was 
s  ife  in  his  wife's  hands. 

Then,  as  if  in  a  dream,  Claire  heard  how  his  suspicion 

V  as  again  stirred ;  how  when  he  returned  to  England  they 


4.04  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

had  met  by  appointment  and  sat  together  in  Hyde  Park ; 
and  how  on  this  occasion  "  she  had  made  a  communica- 
tion to  him."  She  heard  how  she  had  voluntarily  confessed 
that  a  man  had  now  entered  her  life,  and  how  she  had 
praised  this  man  in  quite  extravagant  terms  as  being  the 
noblest  of  his  kind,  speaking  wildly  and  recklessly  of  her 
gratitude  to  this  man  for  the  kindness  he  had  shown  her. 
Roddy — as  Mr.  Moberley  narrated — had  sat  crushed  and 
silent,  not  knowing  what  to  say  or  do;  but  suffering 
greatly  under  the  revelation  of  her  state  of  mind,  and  ob- 
jecting in  every  part  of  him  to  the  excessive  praise  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  After  a  while  he  had  asked  her  if  she  would 
have  any  objection  to  telling  him  the  name  of  this  man. 
She  had  replied  that  it  was  Colonel  Everett.  And  that  was 
the  first  time,  to  the  best  of  his  recollection,  that  Roddy 
had  ever  heard  the  name  of  the  man  who  wronged  him 
— or  let  us  say,  if  counsel  for  Mrs.  Vaughan  and  Colonel 
Everett  both  prefer  it, — the  man  that  Roddy  now  firmly 
believes  has  wronged  him. 

So  the  story  went  on.  It  had  already  lasted  hours. 
Now  it  was  going  on  again  after  the  interval,  and  draw- 
ing slowly  towards  its  conclusion.  The  gentlemen  of  the 
jury  looked  flushed  and  drowsy  after  their  repast.  Mr. 
Moberley  himself  was  warm  and  rather  breathless;  but 
he  seemed  to  be  brimming  over  with  confidence  in  the 
righteousness  of  his  cause.  He  turned  here  and  there 
showing  his  broad,  ingratiating  smile  as  if  assured  of  the 
sympathy,  the  friendly  regard,  of  everybody  in  courts 
His  tone  to  the  jury  had  become  that  of  a  life-long  com- 
panion; his  nods  and  asides  to  them  seemed  to  imply  an 
almost  telepathic  understanding  between  him  and  them. 
He  and  they  were  men  of  the  world  putting  their  heads 
together;  they  were  birds  too  old  to  be  caught  with  chaff. 
And  every  now  and  then,  as  Sir  James  had  foretold,  he 
did  a  little  acting  for  them.  It  was  execrably  bad  acting, 
but  it  was  good  enough  for  the  audience  and  the  place. 

He  had  come  now  to  what  he  would  call  "  the  Brighton 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  405 

inc  lent,"  and  he  told  it  with  increased  vigour.  "  Here 
an({  everywhere  else  it  is  the  same  thing — something  un- 
usi  1  instantly  observed,  questions  asked,  doubt  engen- 
de}  d.  The  servants  of  the  house  knew  Mrs.  Vaughan  as 
an  indolent,  purposeless  individual,  lolling  through  the 
da )  s  over  a  novel,  scarcely  able  to  take  the  trouble  to  go 
fo]  a  walk  on  the  Parade  with  the  old  woman.  She  does 
no  care  what  she  eats  or  when  she  eats :  she  is  a  picture  of 
eniid.  Then  in  a  moment  they  see  her  as  a  changed 
pe  '  son :  she  has  come  to  life.  Why  ?  The  announcement 
is  riade  that  a  male  visitor  is  expected,  and  that  nothing 
is  ioo  good  for  him.  He  is  to  be  feasted  and  feted — the 
ric'iest  food,  the  choicest  wine  must  be  procured.  You 
wil.  be  told  how  Mrs.  Vaughan  with  her  own  hands  ar- 
ranged the  bedchamber  for  this  masculine  guest,  decking 
it  with  costly  flowers,  fussing  in  and  out*  to  add  further 
touches  of  adornment. 

^'  The  visitor  arrives.  It  is  Colonel  Everett,  of  course; 
ard  immediately  these  two  girls  are  set  wondering.  The 
quiet,  indolent  Mrs.  Vaughan  and  the  Colonel  laugh  and 
cl  aff  and  carry  on  in  a  way  these  girls  don't  understand. 
,  Now,  that  first  night  of  the  visit,  the  night  of  Saturday, 
August  the  twenty-third,  one  of  the  girls,  Alice  Pink, 
makes  a  startling  discovery.  She  has  been  out  for  a  little 
relaxation  with  friends,  and,  owing  to  unforeseen  circum- 
sl  ances  is  prevented  from  returning  to  the  house  till  a  late 
h  )ur — about  eleven  o'clock,  to  be  accurate — a  late  hour 
for  the  seaside.  Everybody  has  long  since  gone  to  bed; 
t'le  house  is  in  darkness." 

And  he  described  how  Alice  Pink  had  disco"Vered  Mrs. 
\aughan  and  Colonel  Everett  alone  together  in  the  dark, 
ill  a  room  on  the  ground  floor.  Alice  Pink  would  herself 
c  escribe  their  position  in  the  room,  their  confusion  on 
I  aing  discovered,  and  so  on ;  he  merely  wished  to  lay  suf- 
i  cient  stress  on  the  fact  itself.  Then  he  did  a  little  more 
i  cting :  assuming  his  heavy,  puzzled  expression.  How 
4,ould  one  explain  the  thing.?     It  did  seem  to  him  so  as- 


406      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

tounding,  so  amazing.  A  darkened  room.  A  room  without 
any  light.  Eleven  o'clock,  and  everybody  else  safe  in 
bed.  How  could  you  understand  two  people  in  their  walk 
of  life  so  compromising  themselves  by  such  incredible  be- 
haviour.?   Alice  Pink  could  not  at  any  rate  understand  it. 

That,  one  might  say,  was  Act  I.  of  "  the  Brighton  inci- 
dent." Act  II.  occurred  next  day.  Late  in  the  day  the 
old  woman  was  taken  ill  and  put  to  bed,  in  charge  of  a 
sick  nurse.  What  do  these  two  people  do.''  Do  they  sit 
by  the  sick  bed  and  show  solicitude  .'^  No,  they  have  a 
whispered  meal  together  and  then  go  for  a  moonlight 
ramble  together.  Whatever  you  may  think  of  this  old 
woman,  she  is  a  faithful  friend  to  them;  she  is,  moreover, 
their  hostess.  She  is  seriously  ill;  she  has  been  stricken 
down  with  the  illness  of  which  not  long  afterward  she 
died.  One  might  expect  that  they  would  show  some  ordi- 
nary good  feeling  towards  her.  But  no — not  a  sign  of  it. 
How  are  you  to  explain  this  callousness  except  in  one  way  ? 
Well,  notoriously,  people  can  be  very  selfish  when  under 
the  influence  of  an  absorbing  passion.  They  are  thinking 
so  much  about  themselves  that  they  can  think  very  little 
about  anybody  else. 

That  same  night,  at  an  advanced  hour,  say,  about  mid- 
night, the  second  discovery  is  made.  The  other  girl,  Miss 
May  Wilding,  has  been  out  for  relaxation;  and  on  her 
way  upstairs  to  her  bed  at  the  top  of  the  house  she  notices 
that  the  door  of  Mrs.  Vaughan's  room  is  open.  She  goes 
into  the  room.  Mrs.  Vaughan  is  not  there.  She  will  relate 
in  her  own  words  the  steps  she  took  to  ascertain  where 
Mrs.  Vaughan  was,  and  the  irresistible  conclusion  at  which 
she  arrived.  It  was,  he  said,  a  very  terrible  discovery  for 
a  young,  innocent  girl  to  make.  It  almost  unnerved  her. 
She  went  straight  to  the  apartment  which  she  shared  with 
Alice  Pink,  woke  her  companion,  and  reported  what  she 
had  discovered.  Natural  sleep  was  impossible  for  either 
of  them  after  that ;  and  in  turn,  from  time  to  time  during 
the  night,  they  cautiously  descended  the  stairs  to  ascertain 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR 'WORSE      407 

if  Mrs.  Vaughan  had  yet  returned  to  her  room.  She  had 
m  t  returned  to  it  at  3  a.m.  She  had  not  returned  to  it  at 
4. 10  a.m.  It  was  then  daylight,  and  the  watchers  were 
a  I  raid  to  watch  any  longer. 

He  said  he  could  not  conceive  a  more  distressing  situa- 
ti  )n  for  two  young  girls  to  find  themselves  in.  They  were 
Pighly  respectable  girls  and  they  had  their  characters  to 
t  i  ink  of.  If  this  sort  of  thing  was  going  on  in  the  house, 
it  was  not  a  house  that  they  wished  to  stay  in.  On  the 
<  1  her  hand,  they  ran  a  fearful  risk  in  denouncing  a  lady  of 
}>)sition  like  Mrs.  Vaughan,  a  person  belonging  to  the 
tipper  circles,  probably  with  powerful  friends  and  far- 
r<3aching  influence.  They  debated  the  matter;  and  they 
liad  the  courage  to  decide  that,  no  matter  what  the  risk, 
tJiey  would  intimate  to  their  employer  that  either  these 
jodgers  must  be  turned  out  of  the  house,  or  they  them- 
salves  must  go.  And  they  had  the  fortitude  to  carry  out 
their  resolution.  They  spoke  to  the  landlady  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning. 

As  a  result,  unquestionably,  the  thing  would  have  hap- 
pened. These  people — this  colonel  and  this  fashionable 
lady — would  have  been  turned  into  the  street,  had  they  not 
been  too  quick  for  any  action  on  the  part  of  the  landlady. 
But  now  what  happens?  This  is  Act  III.  of  the  Brighton 
incident,  and  he  could  not  see  any  possible  explanation  for 
such  incredible  occurrences  except  the  simple  and  obvious 
one  that  these  two  people  have  taken  alarm;  they  have 
heard  the  footfall  of  those  nocturnal  watchers  outside  the 
Colonel's  door;  they  know  that  they  are  discovered. 
"  Anyhow,  this  is  how  they  act.  They  go  of  their  own 
accord.  They  have  the  old  woman  dragged  out  of  bed 
— she  agrees,  of  course — she  would  agree  to  anything — 
especially  if  they  have  told  her  of  their  alarm — and  they 
rush  her  back  to  London.  Before  you  can  look  round,  the 
house  is  empty.  The  whole  party  has  disappeared.  The 
rent  is  forfeited,  the  uneaten  food  is  abandoned.  They 
have  flown.     The  nurse — a  woman  of  experience  in  her 


408      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

profession — will  tell  you  she  was  never  more  astonished 
in  her  life  than  when  she  heard  the  rapid  orders  that 
were  being  given,  and  learned  that  the  patient  was  to  be 
roused  for  a  railway  journey  and  that  she  herself  was 
dismissed  from  the  case."  TPiat  was  the  Brighton  inci- 
dent, and,  as  he  had  said  before,  he  did  not  for  the  life 
of  him  see  how  you  were  going  to  get  round  it. 

He  came  now  to  what  he  would  call "  The  Flat  Episode  '^ 
— ^the  second  of  the  specified  dates — ►and  he  rattled 
through  this  with  breathless  determination.  On  that  date, 
Mrs.  Vaughan,  totally  unaccompanied,  went  to  the  co- 
respondent's rooms  in  St.  James's.  But  she  was  now 
under  observation;  she  was  being  watched,  not  by  mere 
well-meaning  amateurs  like  May  and  Alice,  but  by  experts. 
He  would  prove  that  she  entered  the  building  at  thirteen 
minutes  past  three  in  the  afternoon  and  that  she  had  not 
yet  left  the  building  at  five  o'clock  on  the  following  morn- 
ing. He  enlarged  briefly  on  the  generally  accepted  opinion 
that  a  self-respecting  female,  no  matter  what  her  social 
status,  cannot,  without  the  grossest  defiance  of  propriety, 
visit  one  of  these  houses  occupied  solely  by  men,  even  if  she 
comes  out  again  two  minutes  afterwards.  For  the  rest  he 
seemed  to  think  that  he  could  safely  leave  "  the  Flat  Epi- 
sode "  to  take  care  of  itself. 

Then  he  reached  his  peroration.  He  told  the  jury  tliat 
he  did  not  at  all  minimize  the  gravity  of  the  consequence* 
to  this  woman  if  their  findings  were  what  he  anticipated 
and  asked  for.  To  a  person  in  her  social  position  the 
punishment  would  be  very  severe.  He  had  no  doubt  that 
his  learned  friend  would  bring  all  that  to  their  minds  with 
great  eloquence.  His  learned  friend  was  always  eloquent. 
He  himself  had  no  gifts  of  rhetoric  or  oratory  and  he  had 
often  regretted  his  deficiency,  but,  perhaps,  never  less  than 
on  the  present  occasion;  because  it  seemed  to  him  that 
when  you  had  a  plain,  straightforward  case  the  less  you 
dressed  it  up  the  better.  Well,  then,  the  jury  must  not 
shrink  from  their  duty,  however  painful  it  might  be.    As 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  409 

li  s  lordship  would  tell  them,  you  cannot  have  one  law  for 
t  le  rich  and  another  for  the  poor.  They  must  deal  with 
t  lis  lady — this  fashionable,  highly-placed  lady — just  ex- 
j  2tly  as  if  she  was  the  wife  of  the  butcher,  the  baker,  or 
t  le  candlestickmaker. 

Next  minute  Roddy  was  being  sworn.  He  stood  there, 
bold  and  shameless;  dressed  in  new  clothes,  with  his  hair 
freshly  cut  and  singed,  and  an  expression  of  injury  and 
resentment  on  his  naturally  truculent  face. 

To  begin  with,  Mr.  Moberley  asked  him  questions  about 
rimself,  about  his  having  fought  in  the  late  war  and 
his  having  served  with  distinction  in  the  war  before  that 
-—questions  designed  to  show  what  a  fine  fellow  he  was 
^,^enerally;  and,  in  reply,  Roddy  bowed  very  slightly  and 
laurmured  an  affirmative. 

Then,  with  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Moberley,  he  repeated 
Ids  own  part  of  that  long  story  to  which  everybody  had 
just  been  listening.  He  spoke  now  resolutely  and  aggres- 
sively, scowling  and  flushing  as  he  uttered  the  co- 
respondent's name.  And  from  time  to  time  he  turned  his 
eyes  to- Claire,  and  looked  at  her  implacably  before  an- 
swering another  question. 

Did  he  believe  what  he  was  saying.?  Claire,  who  knew 
every  intonation  of  the  dreaded  voice,  wondered  if,  after 
all,  he  really  believed.  She  knew,  at  least,  that  his  jealousy 
was  genuinely  aroused,  and  that  his  anger  against  Basil 
Everett  was  real  and  not  simulated.  His  mastery  over 
her  had  been  disputed,  and  at  all  costs  he  desired  to  re- 
assert it.  She  knew  with  absolute  certainty  that  it  was  no 
longer  merely  her  money  that  he  craved  for;  he  wanted 
revenge  and  victory.  To  that  extent  he  wanted  her  her- 
self. He  was  ready,  as  he  had  told  her,  to  begin  all  over 
again,  and  in  the  extremity  of  her  disgust  she  almost 
fainted  as  she  thought  of  it. 

"  Use  your  smelling-salts,"  said  Leonard,  watching  her.. 

In  cross-examination  Sir  James  made  himself  as  un- 


410  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

pleasant  to  Roddy  as  he  possibly  could ;  but  on  the  whole 
Roddy  remained  unshaken,  and  the  feeling  of  all  hearers 
was  that  no  good  had  been  done.  Under  Sir  James,  Roddy 
became  more  aggressive;  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
smiled  contemptuously  when  driven  into  corners,  and  he 
came  out  of  them  noisily.  Dick  Collie  and  Leonard  Joyce 
both  thought  that  Sir  James  went  on  too  long.  The  more 
sharply  Roddy  was  goaded;  the  more  clearly  he  seemed  to 
convey  that  essential  impression  of  the  strong,  indignant 
male  whose  rights  have  been  assailed  by  another  male. 
He  was  very  briefly  re-examined  by  Mr.  Moberley. 

That  was  the  end  of  the  second  day.  As  Claire  drove 
away  in  Leonard's  car  she  saw  the  posters  of  the  evening 
papers,  with  "  The  Vaughan  Divorce  Case  "  in  enormous 
letters.  The  Vaughans,  commonplace  as  was  their  pre- 
dicament, had  caught  the  popular  taste.  Henceforth  they 
would  be  given  all  the  space  necessary,  whatever  else  might 
be  crowded  out. 

It  was  a  miserable  dinner  at  Hague  House;  with  Mrs. 
Gilmour's  face  like  a  tragic  mask,  with  Leonard  silently 
making  grimaces  at  the  table  cloth,  with  even  Belt  on  unable 
to  keep  up  pretences  and  so  nervous  that  he  broke  a  glass. 
After  the  others  had  gone  Mrs.  Gilmour  wept  on  her 
daughter's  neck. 

"  Oh,  Claire,  my  poor,  unhappy  child,  that  I  should  have 
lived  to  see  this  day !  But  I  must  be  brave  for  your  sake. 
Oh,  that  man,  that  Moberley!  Why  did  Sir  James  let 
him  have  such  license.^  Why  couldn't  he  stop  him?  Claire, 
I  do  not  like  Sir  James — and  what  is  more,  I  do  not  trust 
him.     Now  go  to  bed  and  try  to  sleep." 

Claire  did  not  sleep.  She  felt  as  if  she  would  never 
sleep  again.  She  had  told  her  mother  that  she  wanted  tp 
have  her  things  taken  back  to  Hans  Place  in  the  morning. 
She  could  not  again  meet  their  faces  at  the  dinner  table. 
It  would  be  easier  to  suffer  in  solitude. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

"^^  TEXT  morning  the  corridor  outside  the  court  was 

V^  already  so  full  of  people  that  Leonard  had  difficulty 
^  in   conducting   Claire   through   the   crowd.      The 

u  r  if ormed  attendants  were  keeping  the  doors  locked,  but 
t  ]ej  opened  them  for  Claire.  Everyone  knew  her  by  sight 
new.  All  the  principals  and  their  companions  had  become 
fi  miliar  to  the  eye.  At  the  solicitors'  table  it  was  like  the 
r  2  assembling  of  a  desolate  sort  of  house-party.  Each  guest 
knew  where  to  sit;  and  before  each  place  the  appropriate 
bags  and  piles  of  papers  were  being  laid  out  by  clerks,  as 
aitentive  to  one's  comfort  as  well-trained  footmen. 

All  that  day  and  most  of  the  next  day,  the  slow  pro- 
cession of  witnesses  continued ;  and  in  every  hour  Claire  felt 
the  horror  of  it  deepening.    It  was  like  a  nightmare. 

Everybody  that  she  had  ever  known,  as  it  seemed,  was 
I>araded  here  to  aid  in  her  destruction.  Quite  meaning- 
less people  who  had  flitted  past  on  the  vague  background  of 
}i€r  life  rose  like  ghosts  to  recall  themselves  to  her  memory 
for  a  moment,  denounced  her,  and  disappeared.  People 
ihat  she  had  instinctively  disliked,  people  that  she  had 
})een  rather  fond  of,  people  to  whom  she  had  never  spoken 
— it  was  all  the  same:  few  or  many  words  of  the  same 
iibominable  purport. 

Here  one  after  another  were  people  from  that  hospital, 

armed  with  books  and  forms,  reciting  over  again  the  fact 

4»f  her  sudden  increase  of  attendances ;  saying  how  they  had 

all  talked  about  her  behind  her  back,  how  they  had  heard 

ler  laughing  with  Basil,  how  he  had  been  always  asking 

or  her. 

Here — ^most  absurd  and  fantastic — ^was  a  real  friend, 
!vlrs.  Morris,  the  Edgware  Road  lodging-house  keeper; 

411 


412  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

but  instead  of  talking  about  the  hot  water  pipes  or  the 
bit  of  cold  mutton  which  would  make  a  hash,  telling  them 
details  of  the  doctor's  mistake;  how  she  had  heard  the 
doctor  address  the  Colonel  as  Mrs.  Vaughan's  husband; 
and  how  she  had  thought  the  error  was  due  to  the  Colonel 
standing  with  his  arm  round  Mrs.  Vaughan's  waist  and 
Mrs.  Vaughan  addressing  him  by  his  christian  name. 

Then — monstrous  and  incredible — it  was  Pope.  Yes, 
here  was  Mrs.  Emma  Dent,  the  wife  of  a  soldier,  formerly 
Miss  Pope  and  lady's  maid  to  Mrs.  Vaughan ;  reluctantly 
saying  it  all  over  again. 

Then  it  was  Doctor  Rice-Wilcox,  protesting  against 
being  dragged  here  to  his  great  inconvenience  with  nothing 
of  the  slightest  importance  to  say,  and  yet,  nevertheless, 
saying  it  all  once  more.  He  denied  any  power  of  diagnosis 
or  sizing  up  in  such  a  connection ;  told  Sir  James  that  his 
mistake  was  the  most  natural  mistake  in  the  world,  that 
he  might  make  a  similar  mistake  to-day,  to-morrow,  or  the 
day  after.  Perhaps  had  sized  up  people  wrongly  a  hundred 
times  in  his  career.  But  then  immediately  afterwards  he 
had  to  tell  Mr.  Moberley  that  perhaps  the  mistake,  such 
as  it  was,  was  based  on  those  two  facts — arm  round  waist 
and  use  of  christian  name. 

These  three  witnesses  were  alike  reluctant ;  they  had  been 
iforced  to  come  here  against  their  will;  they  obviously 
wished  well  to  Claire,  and  for  that  reason  did  her  the 
more  harm. 

She  herself  did  not  hear  the  doctor's  evidence.  At  sight 
of  him  a  paralysis  of  logical  thought  had  swiftly  fallen 
upon  her.  She  could  only  see  his  greyness  and  his  quiet 
intentness ;  his  black  coat  and  his  cameo  tie-pin.  The  pain 
of  that  dark  time  was  burning  her  throat  and  tearing  at 
her  heart. 

All  day  long — and  part  of  the  next  day. 

They  have  reached  the  Brighton  incident  now,  and  maps 
and  plans  are  handed  about,  and  called  for,  and  mislaid. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  413 

T  le  position  of  the  rooms,  the  slope  of  the  staircase,  the 
ri  mber  of  doors  on  each  floor,  all  must  be  understood  to 
er  able  you  properly  to  grasp  what  the  witnesses  are  saying. 

The  Brighton  incident  unfolds  itself  briskly  under  the 
c(  ntrol  of  Mr.  Moberley.  One  after  the  other  we  have 
tl  e  two  young  ladies.  Alice  Pink,  wearing  a  soft  yellow 
e  raw  hat  on  the  back  of  her  head,  with  grey  jacket  and 
slirt,  puts  her  hands,  in  white  cotton  gloves,  over  the  ledge 
()  ■  the  witness  box  and  twitches  her  fingers  as  she  relates 
h)w,  when  she  entered  the  darkened  dining-room,  Mrs. 
"v  aughan  was  close  to  the  sofa  by  the  book-case  and  the 
C  olonel  stooping  over  her ;  how  they  both  "  stepped  aside 
like"  in  much  confusion  of  spirit;  how  she  had  noticed 
m  electric  torch  among  the  Colonel's  things  in  his  dressing- 
cag,  and  how  she  had  seen  it  again  in  Mrs.  Vaughan's 
room. 

May  Wilding,  in  a  blue  jumper  and  a  white  chip-straw 
hat  trimmed  with  black  ribbon  and  a  sea-gull's  wing,  carries 
black  gloves  which  she  twists  in  her  hands  while  she  tells 
of  the  measures  she  took  to  ascertain  that  Mrs.  Vaughan, 
missing  from  her  own  room,  was  not  in  the  drawing-room, 
was  not  in  this  room  or  in  that  room,  could  not  be  in  any 
room  except  that  room  on  the  second  floor — the  one  room 
of  the  house  that  she  had  no  business  to  be  in. 

Mr.  Moberley  is  very  suave  and  courteous  to  these  two 
witnesses,  treating  them  as  very  nice  young  ladies,  calling 
them  Miss  Pink  and  Miss  Wilding,  although  he  always 
calls  poor  Aunt  Agnes  "  the  old  woman."  "  Take  your 
time,  Miss  Wilding.  Just  tell  it  in  your  own  words ;  '* 
and  so  on. 

Sir  James,  of  course,  is  unpleasant  to  them.  He  makes 
them  look  foolish,  uncomfortable,  miserable;  shows  them 
as  the  two  common  little  sluts  that  they  are;  but  on  the 
whole  their  evidence  stands.  The  story  has  not  yet  beea 
shaken. 

Then  Miss  Newman,  the  genteelly  incompetent  landlady. 


414t  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

tells  of  the  communication  made  to  her  by  her  two  maids> 
May  and  AUce,  of  her  genteel  inability  to  cope  with  such  a 
situation,  and  her  genteel  relief  of  mind  when  the  problem 
was  solved  for  her  by  the  abrupt  departure  of  her  lodgers. 
She  would  far  rather  speak  of  the  old  rectory,  with  its 
associations  of  forfeited  grandeur,  and  tries  to  do  so,  but  is 
checked. 

Sir  James  interposing,  she  is  told  by  the  judge  that  she 
may  say  a  statement  was  made  to  her  by  the  servants,  but 
must  not  say  what  they  stated.  On  this  she  says  it  again, 
and  being  again  called  to  order  becomes  grievously  con- 
fused. In  croifes-examination  Sir  James  scores  a  distinct 
success  with  her.  She  tells  him  that  she  did  hear  the 
doctor  say  that  Miss  Graham  wished  to  go,  and  the  de- 
parture may  not,  therefore,  have  surprised  her  at  the 
time,  but  only  have  surprisesd  her  at  a  later  period. 
Perhaps  only  when  she  heard  it  talked  about  in  connection 
with  this  case.  Sir  James,  it  is  felt,  has  done  well  with 
this  witness. 

But  his  great  effort  is  in  cross-examination  of  the  nurse. 
The  nurse  has  recounted  her  impression  of  the  too  friendly 
behaviour  of  the  colonel  and  the  lady,  has  given  her  yer- 
sion  of  the  hasty  departure  and  the  cruelty  of  taking  her 
patient  on  a  journey,  and  Sir  James  puts  it  to  her  that 
her  notion  of  the  patient's  state  is  founded  on  guess-work, 
because  she  was  asleep  all  night,  and  that  Mrs.  Vaughan 
sat  in  the  room  doing  her  duty  for  her.  He  reminds  her 
that  her  first  words  on  entering  the  house  were  to  say 
that  she  was  dead-beat  and  in  sore  need  of  sleep;  but  she 
utterly  repudiates  these  imputations.  Asleep  on  duty! 
What  next,  she  would  like  to  know ! 

Mr.  Moberley  has  fought  Sir  James  in  her  defence  to 
save  her  from  these  odious  aspersions ;  he  protests  against 
the  line  of  cross-examination  as  outrageous  and  unfair. 
Questions  not  arising  out  of  her  tale !  He,  too,  would  like 
to  know  what  next.    His  lordship,  however,  does  not  quite 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  415 

g  I  how  he  is  to  stop  Sir  James.  This  is  one  of  many 
f  i  nilar  squabbles  between  counsel  about  what  Is  relevant 
{  A  admissible.  Now  his  lordship  seems  to  feel  he  has 
i  ready  let  in  so  much  that  it  is  too  late  to  try  to  keep 
I  lything  out.  And  thus  it  is  henceforth ;  no  one  is  stopped, 
1  )thing  is  forbidden ;  time  is  forgotten. 

Sir  James  continues  his  tussle  with  the  nurse ;  but  with 
c  )stinate  tenacity  she  holds  her  ground.  Forced  to  re- 
c  )unt  her  previous  fatigues,  she  makes  light  of  them,  vows 
iiiat  when  she  arrived  in  Schomburg  Square  she  could  have 
]:3pt  awake  for  another  week  if  necessary.  She  says  that 
tiir  James  does  not  know  what  it  would  mean  for  a  night- 
nurse  to  fall  asleep.  Sir  James  says  he  knows  perfectly 
Mell,  and  declares  that  for  his  part  he  would  think  nothing 
of  it.  If  he  himself  had  been  as  tired  as  she,  he  would 
mve  certainly  yielded  to  slumber  and  would  not  have 
:een  ashamed  to  say  so. 

"  Ah,  but  you  are  not  a  nurse," 

And  there  is  laughter. 

"  Suppose  I  tell  you  that  Mrs.  Vaughan  is  going  to 
prove  with  the  most  startling  certainty  that  she  was  in 
fact  in  the  room  and  watched  you  sleeping  for  hour  after 
hour?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  believe  it.     Because  she  wasn't  there." 

Then  he  cautioned  her,  telling  her  to  be  very  carefuL 

"  If  she  had  been  there  I  should  have  seen  her.  She 
wasn't  there." 

Pressed  to  admit  that  she  knew  perfectly  well  that  Miss 
Graham  was  fit  to  travel,  she  says,  "  Certainly  not,"  with 
obstinate  determination. 

"  Did  you  not  hear  the  doctor  say  so.^^ " 

"  No,  never." 

"  Did  you  not  hear  him  tell  Miss  Newman  that  the 
patient  was  fit  to  travel?  " 

"  Of  course  I  didn't.  Why  should  he  teU  Miss  Newman 
when  /  was  there?    If  he  had  said  so  to  anyone,  he  would 


416  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

have  said  so  to  me."  She  seems  offended  and  angry  at 
the  notion  of  such  a  breach  of  etiquette.  '   — 

She  sticks  to  her  point,  too,  and  will  not  be  drawn  into 
entanglements.  Throughout  the  long  tussle  one  can  recog- 
nize the  mental  attitude  of  the  woman  who  would  die  rather 
than  withdraw  anything. 

"...  I  wasn't  asleep.  ...  I  say  I  wasn't  sleeping." 

**  You  think  it  is  impossible  to  drop  asleep  without 
meaning  to?  " 

"  I  don't  say  I  mightn't  close  an  eye ;  but  this  is  a 
question  of  being  asleep  for  hours.  Yes,  I  do  say  it's 
impossible." 

"You  realize  the  importance  of  all  this.?"  asked  Sir 
James,  in  his  most  tremendous  manner. 

He  was  majestic  and  awe-inspiring,  with  grave  signifi- 
cant glances  at  the  jury,  and  with  a  tone  and  gesture  of 
supreme  contempt  as  he  echoed  the  witness's  answers; 
but  the  nurse  looked  at  him  squarely,  and  showed  no  fear 
of  him. 

In  re-examination  Mr.  Moberley  was  brief  and  effective, 

"  You  have  no  interest  in  this  case?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  said  the  nurse  firmly ;  and  Mr. 
Moberley  smiled  at  the  jury. 

So  it  went  on.  Claire,  looking  up  after  another  lapse 
of  attention,  saw  standing  in  the  witness  box  that  hall 
porter,  wearing  the  same  apple-green  coat  with  the  wound 
stripes  on  the  sleeve.  He  told  how  she  had  tried  to  escape 
notice  by  hurrying  up  the  staircase,  and  how  he  had  called 
her  back  and  taken  her  up  in  the  lift  to  the  Colonel's 
rooms.  He  was  on  duty  till  one  a.m.,  and  he  did  not  see 
her  go  out ;  if  she  had  gone  out  again  he  must  have  seen 
her  go  out.  After  one  a.m.  she  would  have  to  get  some 
one  to  let  her  out  with  a  key.  The  Colonel  had  such  a 
key. 

Then  one  after  another  came  the  men  who  had  watched 
outside  the  building. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  417 

It  was  worse  than  a  dream;  because  the  horror  of  it, 
i:i  itead  of  rising  and  falling  in  force  as  happens  in 
di  earns,  was  steadily  cumulative.  A  diabolical,  merciless 
L)  ^ic  governed  its  slowly  developing  phases.  Each  ghostly 
ii  ce  seen,  every  wild  word  spoken,  increased  the  torment 
of  it  and  seemed  to  push  one  a  little  nearer  to  the  inexorable 
V  )rd  of  doom.  She  felt  "  I  shall  go  mad  if  I  go  on  think- 
irg  of  it  like  this;"  and  she  had  an  instantaneous 
sense  of  relief  each  time  that  she  allowed  her  thoughts 
tc  wander. 

She  noticed  trivial  details  of  the  court  itself,  studied  the 
scrdid  scene,  glanced  at  the  frequently  changing  faces 
<;■  the  crowd  on  her  right  hand.  With  absorbed  interest 
flie  watched  an  elderly  usher  who  had  been  told  by  the 
judge  to  take  a  glass  of  water  to  one  of  the  counsel.  He 
liLinted  for  a  glass  in  a  little  cupboard  in  the  book-case 
facing  the  solicitors'  table.  A  bunch  of  kej^s  hung  from 
the  lock  of  the  cupboard  door,  and  she  wondered  to  what 
receptacles  they  all  belonged.  Then  again  she  tore  herself 
from  these  trifles  to  the  terrible  main  fact.  She  was  on 
trial  for  more  than  life,  and  things  were  going  against 
lier. 

Those  people  going  in  and  out  seemed  to  her  the  great 
■public.  They  were  her  real  judges,  the  people  who  hear 
only  a  few  words  and  say,  "  That's  enough  for  me.  She's 
guilty." 

All  at  once  Mr.  Moberley  announced  that  this  was  his 
oase. 

She  began  to  breathe  more  freely  as  she  listened  to  the 
speech  of  Sir  James.  Her  belief  that  in  this  place  the 
truth  must  triumph  had  gone  utterly,  but  her  courage  and 
her  hope  revived  as  the  friendly  voice  vibrated  behind  her 
back  and  the  comforting  words  fell  warm  upon  her  ears. 
This  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  she  had  wanted  to  hear 
said.     This  was  at  once  truth  and  salvation.     Yes,  she 


418  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

denied  it  all  with  indignation  and  disgust.  Yes,  she  would 
go  into  that  box  again  and  tell  them  the  simple  un- 
varnished facts.     Yes,  yes. 

He  was  saying  in  effect  that  the  whole  thing  was  a 
trumped-up  accusation.  It  bore  every  well-known  mark  of 
the  artfully  concocted  tale.  He  was  cautioning  the  jury 
against  giving  ready  credence  to  servants'  reckless  assump- 
tions— the  assumptions  of  none  too  nice-minded  people. 
In  that  court  it  was  notorious  that  there  was  no  more 
untrustworthy  evidence  than  the  evidence  of  servants ;  un- 
less it  was  the  evidence  of  the  people  employed  by  private 
inquiry  agents — people  paid  by  results,  people  who  must 
find  out  something  or  pretend  to  find  out  something  in  order 
to  justify  their  existence.  He  was  showing  how  there  had 
been  an  endeavour  to  make  an  effect  by  multiplying  evi- 
dence, seeing  how  weak  it  was  intrinsically.  He  was  point- 
ing out  the  total  absence  of  incriminating  documents.  No 
letters.  No  telegrams.  Not  a  single  line  in  Claire's  hand- 
writing. His  voice  was  vibrating  more  strongl3\  Good 
heavens,  if  people  were  to  be  lightly  condemned  on  un- 
substantial charges  such  as  these,  what  lady  in  the  land 
would  be  secure  ?  He  was  winding  up  his  speech.  He  was 
calling  on  his  client  to  tell  them  the  real  story  of  all 
these  events, 

Leonard  patted  her  arm  and  whispered  to  her  as  she 
moved  towards  the  witness  box,  "  Now,  Claire,  a  brave 
front!" 

Then,  in  reply  to  her  counsel's  questions  and  faithful 
to  her  oath,  Claire  told  them  the  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth. 

And  that  was  the  end  of  the  fourth  day. 

On  the  following  morning  the  crowd  was  bigger  than 
ever.  Guardians  at  the  doors  had  searching  tests  of  con- 
science as  they  found  room  for  people  with  real  business 
or  pocketed   half   crowns    and   admitted   the   pruriently 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  419 

c  -ious.  Barristers  in  wigs  were  shepherding  fashionably- 
d  ?ssed  ladies,  squeezing  them  into  the  fold  with  arrogant 
j  Tiality.  A  comfortable  seat  at  the  Vaughan  Divorce 
C  =se  would  pay  for  a  year's  hospitality  and  leave  a  bal- 
a :  ce  over  to  one's  credit.  "  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  ?  " 
*'  ^ot  at  all."  And  for  to-day,  too  !  The  day  !  The  lady 
in  the  box! 

There  was  a  murmur  of  pleasant  anticipation  up  and 
C(  wn  the  benches.  Experts  spoke  of  Moberley,  K.C. — 
stronger  in  cross-examination  than  anything  else;  more 
t  an  a  bit  of  a  bully ;  worse  with  women  than  men.  The 
s  i  ght  movements  of  restless  suspense  ceased,  and  the  mur- 
imring  grew  soft.  Claire  was  going  up  the  steps  of  the 
T'itness  box.  Only  the  ladies  in  furs  and  feathers  con- 
tinued to  whisper. 

"  She's  pretty."  ..."  Yes,  in  a  way."  ..."  Tall, 
isn't  she?"  .  .  .  "I  like  her  hat."  .  .  .  "Yes,  she  is 
])retty.     I  see  it  now.     I  see  the  attraction." 

''Silencer' 

Mr.  Moberley  began  very  quietly  and  slowly,  picking 
up  the  thread  at  her  final  answers  to  Sir  James.  He  told 
iier  that  last  night  she  had  denied  all  the  accusations 
.igainst  her,  and  asked  her  if  she  confirmed  her  denial  this 
norning;  and  she  said,  yes,  she  did.  Then  he  asked  her 
f  in  her  opinion  her  conduct  with  the  co-respondent  was 
act  even  open  to  suspicion ;  and  she  said  that  she  saw  no 
reason  to  suspect  it. 

"  The  evidence  is  all  a  tissue  of  lies?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  say  that.  A  great  deal  of  it  is  quite 
true.  It  is  the  inference  drawn  from  it  that  is  totally 
false." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  inference?  " 

"  Isn't  it  obvious  what  she  means?  "  said  Sir  James. 

"  Please  do  not  interrupt.  I  have  shown  the  greatest 
reticence  and  Indulgence  to  you."  And  Mr.  Moberley 
repeated  his  question. 


420  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  I  mean  the  interpretation  you  are  trying  to  put  upon 
it.'' 

"  Oh,  don't  trouble  about  my  interpretation.  Don't,  I 
beg  you,  trouble  about  that.  The  gentlemen  of  the  jury 
and  his  lordship  wjll  attend  to  that.  Just  answer  my 
questions.  .  .  .  You  have  heard  what  the  servant  AHce 
Pink  told  us  of  how  she  discovered  the  presence  of  yourself 
and  the  co-respondent  in  the  room  on  the  ground  floor 
after  the  rest  of  the  party  had  gone  to  bed?  " 

«  Yes." 

*^  And  you  do  not  deny  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  deny  the  simple  fact,  but  I  utterly  deny 
everything  else." 

"Everything  else?  But  I  am  not  asking  you  about 
anything  else.  I  am  speaking  of  the  night  of  August  the 
twenty-third.  Please  confine  your  attention  to  that.  Now 
I  will  put  my  question  again — and  in  another  form,  so 
that  there  cannot  be  any  possible  misunderstanding.  Is 
the  statement  of  this  witness,  the  servant  Pink,  correct  or 
not?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  correct  as  far  as  it  goes." 

"  As  far  as  it  goes !  But  it  could  not  go  further  unless 
she  had  been  in  the  room  with  you  from  the  beginning." 
And  there  was  a  laugh.  "  Now,  please  answer  my  question." 

"  She  has  answered  it." 

^*  No,  I  want  yes  or  no.  I  don't  want  these  embroideries 
and  foot-notes  and  enlargements.  Now,  Mrs.  Vaughan, 
for  the  third  time.  Do  you  deny  this  girl's  statement  of 
the  facts?" 

«  No." 

**  Ah,  we  have  got  it  at  last ;  "  and  he  gave  a  good- 
humoured  smile  of  triumph  to  the  jury. 

All  this  was  taking  time,  and  already  she  was  feeling 
the  fatigue  and  strain  of  it ;  but  she  understood  perfectly 
well  that  it  was  only  sparring.  This  man  meant  to  tire 
her,  to  wear  her  down,  to  exhaust  her  strength  if  he  could. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  421 

b( :  are  he  got  to  work.    She  braced  herself  to  meet  the  call 
Uj }  )n  her  endurance. 

'  And  as  far  as  you  know — I  am  still  speaking  of  Alice 
P   ik — so  far  as  you  know,  she  could  have  no  reason  for 
IB'  enting  things?  " 
'  No.'^ 

^  So  far  as  you  know,  she  had  no  grudge  or  grievance 
aaainst  you.'^  " 

•*No." 

"  Now,  I  want  to  take  you  to  the  night  of  August  the 
tvv  enty- fourth,  the  following  night — the  night  of  the  old 
h.ly's  illness.  You  heard  the  evidence  of  the  second  ser- 
vant— Miss  Wilding,  the  girl  May.  Now,  I  want  an 
ar  swer — yes  or  no,  please.  Do  you  really  deny  the  facts 
to  which  she  has  sworn?  " 

"  Well,  what  facts  do  you  mean?  " 

"  All  of  them.  That  she  entered  your  room  and  found 
that  you  were  absent  from  it?  " 

"  No,  of  course  I  don't  deny  it." 

'*  You  only  deny  the  correctness  of  her  interpretation  of 
your  absence?  " 

"  You  told  her  thirty  minutes  ago  not  to  use  the  word 
interpretation." 

"  Oh,  please  "  and  the  big,  coarse  man  assumed  a  most 
j)itiful  expression  of  helpless  distress,  as  he  turned  to  Sir 
James.  "  If  you  cannot  restrain  yourself — if  this  out- 
]  ageous  manner  is  continued — I  shall  have  to  ask  the  pro- 
iection  of  his  lordship."  And  he  stood  for  a  little  while 
])ufBng  and  blowing. 

Then  he  asked  innumerable  questions  about  her  use  of 
Ihe  electric  torch  given  her  by  Basil.  Why  had  she  taken 
"t  with  her  if  she  was  merely  crossing  the  corridor  and 
^oing  into  her  aunt's  room  ?  Was  it  at  all  likely  that  she 
vould  require  the  aid  of  the  torch  in  an  organized  sick- 
•oom  with  a  night-nurse  in  charge?  Had  she  taken  the 
:orch  with  her  without  knowing  why  she  took  the  torch? 


422      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

He  suggested  that  she  had  taken  the  torch  to  help  her  in 
findmg  her  way  silently  up  the  darkened  staircase  to  the 
room  on  the  second  floor. 

So  it  went  on.  At  one  point  she  asked  for  and  was  given 
some  water.  At  a  later  point  Sir  James  asked  that  she 
might  be  allowed  to  sit  down. 

"  Is  she  ill.^^  "  asked  the  judge. 

"  No,  but  she  has  been  standing  for  the  better  part  of 
three  hours." 

"...  Now,  I  am  going  to  ask  for  a  little  further  en- 
lightenment on  some  of  your  replies  to  my  learned  friend," 
and  Mr.  Moberley  turned  round  to  his  junior  and  had  a 
colloquy  with  him  while  they  both  wrestled  with  their 
papers.  "  Oh,  cannot  you  find  it  ?  It  is  the  undressing 
that  I  want.    Ah,  Good !  "    And  he  turned  round  again. 

"  You  have  said  that  you  first  undressed,  and  then  went 
into  your  aunt's  room."  And  he  asked  her  questions  about 
her  garments.  "  Come,  now,  Mrs.  Vaughan  you  need  not 
be  shy  about  it.  This  is  a  court  of  law,  you  know.  Tell 
us  exactly  what  you  were  wearing.?  " 

Claire  said  that  she  wore  her  night-dress  with  only  a 
dressing-gown  over  it ;  and  he  wished  to  know  whether  the 
dressing-gown  was  a  thick  one.  Why  did  she  walk  about 
the  house  in  her  thin  dressing-gown.'^  Why  didn't  she  go 
to  her  aunt  before  she  undressed  .f^  Didn't  think  of  it, 
perhaps?  Was  it  her  custom  to  undress  directly  she  got 
into  her  room  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"You  suppose  so?  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by 
that?  " 

And  he  asked  her  whether  she  was  not  cold  while  sitting 
in  her  aunt's  room. 

"  No." 

"  You  say  you  sat  near  the  window.    Was  it  open  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  At  the  top  or  the  bottom?  " 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  423 

'-  Both,  I  think." 

*   But  still  you  did  not  feel  cold?  " 

^'  No." 

'  *  You  sat  there — I  am  giving  your  own  version — by  this 
op«  1  window — open  at  top  and  bottom — with  no  other 
clciiing  than  what  you  have  described — and  that  is  with 
very  little  clothing  at  all — you  sat  there  hour  after  hour, 
and  you  say  you  did  not  feel  cold?  " 
'  No.     It  was  a  warm  night." 

"  It  was  a  warm  night,"  and  he  had  a  loud  aside  to  his 
jujiior.  "  Yes,  I  think  it  was,  in  more  senses  than  one  .  .  . 
It  '^as  a  warm  night.  That  is  your  explanation.  Very 
we  ,  we  will  leave  it  at  that.  For  the  moment  we  will 
leave  it  at  that.  Now  I  want  to  take  you  back  to  the  pre- 
ceding night — the  night  of  the  twenty-third.  You  have 
toJd  us  that  after  retiring  to  your  room  you  came  down 
to  letch  your  book.    How  long  afterwards  would  that  be?  " 

••  Some  little  time." 

"  Just  so.  We  know  that  it  was  after  eleven — ^because 
th  3  electric  light  had  been  turned  off.  And  we  know  that 
you  went  out  of  the  drawing-room  with  your  aunt  at  half 
past  ten.  According  to  the  witness  Alice  Pink,  it  was 
twenty  minutes  past  eleven  when  she  disturbed  you  in  the 
downstairs  room " 

"  She  did  not  disturb  us." 

"  Very  good,  you  were  not  disturbed.  She  opened  the 
dcor  of  the  room,  let  us  say.  At  eleven-twenty?  Would 
that  be  correct,  as  to  time?  " 

"  Yes,  so  far  as  I  know." 

"  Very  well.    Then  that  gives  us  thirty  to  forty  minutes 
ujtstairs  in  your  room.     About  forty  minutes,  more  or 
ieis?" 
•  "Yes." 

^  The  spectators  listened  apathetically.  All  this  was 
t€  iious,  and  the  big  man  was  not  living  up  to  his  reputa- 
iim.     People  who  had  promised  that  he  was  rough  with 


V 
424  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

women,  knocking  them  about  till  they  had  not  a  leg  to 
stand  on,  were  ashamed  of  having  made  such  large  promises. 
He  had  been  funny  once  or  twice,  but  this  was  tame. 

"  Then,  after  that  period  of  forty  minutes,  you  went 
down  to  fetch  your  book?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  were  you  dressed.'^  " 

The  judge  interposed.  "  If  you  mean  was  she  undressed. 
I  asked  her  that  very  question  myself." 

"  Oh,  please,  my  lord." 

"  And  she  says  that  she  had  not  undressed  on  the  night 
of  the  twenty-third." 

"  I  am  perfectly  aware  of  that,  my  lord." 

*'  Then  why  did  you  ask  her  again?  "  said  Sir  James. 

"  Oh,  really,  really.  In  all  my  experience. — These  cease- 
less interruptions  1 " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  interrupt  you,"  said  the  judge 
suavely.  "  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  my  question.  I 
was  trying  to  help  you." 

"  With  all  deference,  my  lord,  I  do  not  need  help.  I 
do  not  forget  things."  And  he  stood  there  with  his  help- 
less expression,  or  turning  to  glare  at  Sir  James.  "  Indeed, 
I  am  no  neophyte  in  this  court. — More  than  thirty 
years. — Pretty  well  known."  Then,  after  puffing  and 
blowing  he  simmered  down,  shook  out  his  hands,  and 
continued : 

"  You  have  heard  what  has  passed.  Do  you  adhere  to 
your  statement  that  on  this  occasion  you  were  fully 
dressed?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  Very  well.    Now,  Mrs.  Vaughan "    And  it  was  to 

be  noticed  that  as  he  put  his  question  he  turned  to  the 
jury  and  gave  them  a  triumphant  stare,  really  addressing 
the  question  to  them  rather  than  to  the  witness.  "  Will 
you  kindly  tell  us  why  you  weren't  undressed?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  '* 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  425 

"  Surely  my  meaning  is  plain?  You  have  given  us  to 
I  tiderstand  that  on  retiring  to  your  room  it  was  your 
c  istom  to  strip  at  once.  Why  on  this  particular  night 
(  id  you  depart  from  your  custom  and  so  strangely 
(  day? '' 

"  There — there  was  nothing  strange." 

"  Oh,  wa^nH  there?  "  He  had  turned  to  her  again;  he 
s:ared  at  her  insolently,  and  there  was  an  affectation  of 
:  antemptuous  f  orbearingness  in  his  tone.  "  You  know, 
)  ou  can't  have  it  both  ways,  Mrs.  Vaughan.  You  do  what 
S3ems  a  queer  thing  one  night,  and  you  tell  us  to  believe 
i:  isn't  queer  because  it  is  a  habit  of  yours.  Then  when 
i :  is  shown  that  you  have  broken  the  habit  on  the  previous 
r  ight,  you  say  that  isn't  queer  either.  Can't  you  find  any 
explanation  to  give  us?  .    .    .  Well?  " 

"  No."     ■ 

"  And  you  see  nothing  odd — nothing  requiring  explan- 
ation— in  this  discrepancy?" 

"  No." 

"  May  I  suggest  some  possible  explanations,  since  you 
seem  so  completely  as  a  loss?  "  And  he  had  an  offensive 
smile.  "  It  was  a  cold  night,  perhaps,  and  you  therefore 
required  full  clothing?    How  is  that?  " 

"  No." 

"  No,  that  won't  pass  muster — because,  as  a  fact,  it  was 
a  warmer  night  than  the  night  that  followed.  I  have  put 
myself  to  the  trouble  of  ascertaining;  and  the  mean  tem- 
perature of  the  former  night  was  higher  than  the  latter." 

Claire  was  deadly  white;  her  eyes  glanced  round  the 
court  as  if  vainly  seeking  help.  She  looked  like  an  aristo- 
crat of  the  French  Revolution  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the 
people,  or  a  Russian  princess  among  the  Bolshevists.  The 
interest  of  the  audience  was  intense  now.  They  thrilled 
as  they  watched. 

"  Don't  look  here  and  there  and  everywhere,  please. 
Look  at  me — and  give  me  your  close  attention.     Here  is 


426  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  ^ 

another  explanation.  You  had  a  special  reason  that  jaight 
for  not  undressing?  " 

"  No, — none  whatever," 

"  Did  you  know  that  Colonel  Everett  was  out  of  the 
house  and  would  soon  return?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  knew  that.'* 

"  And  you  had  made  up  your  mind  to  wait  there  till 
he  came  in  and  then  go  down  and  join  him?  " 

"  No.'' 

**  Since  his  arrival  at  the  house  early  in  the  afternoon, 
is  it  not  a  fact  you  had  never  once  been  alone  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  remember." 

"  The  old  woman  was  there.  She  had  never  left  you 
alone,  Bot  even  for  a  few  minutes.     Is  that  so?  " 

Claire  remained  silent. 

"  Answer  me.'^  Of  a  sudden  he  had  raised  his  voice, 
and  he  spoke  brutally;  as  men  do  not  speak  to  women, 
and  not  to  other  men  unless  intolerably  provoked.  "  Answer 
me." 

Ah!  It  was  so  sudden  and  so  savage  that  to  many  of 
the  audience  it  seemed  exactly  as  If  he  had  raised  his  hand 
and  struck  her.  People  drew  in  their  breath,  and  there 
was  a  spasmodic  movement  all  along  the  benches.  The 
experts  felt  justified  at  last.     He  was  getting  to  work. 

"  Very  well.  I  suggest  to  you  that  you  were  waiting 
in  your  room  for  an  opportunity  of  getting  speech  with 
the  co-respondent  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  true." 

"  Then  I  put  it  to  you  once  more.  What  were  you  doing? 
One  moment.  Don't  let's  have  another  misunderstanding. 
For  forty  minutes,  more  or  less,  you  were  alone  in  your 
own  room  before  you  thought  of  going  to  bed.  You  must 
have  been  occupied  somehow.  You  were  not  reading,  be- 
cause you  had  left  your  book  downstairs.  Were  you 
writing  letters,  sewing,  tidying  the  apartment?  " 

"  No,  I  think  I  sat  thinking." 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  427 

"  You  sat  thinking.  You  are  fond  of  doing  that.  It 
^ems  to  be  a  favourite  pastime.  All  right;**  and  he 
i  liled.  "  That  is  the  explanation.  This  gap  of  time  is 
li  led  in  so.  It  is  the  onli/  account  you  can  give  of  it.  You 
rt  thinking.  Now,"  and  his  manner  changed  again. 
*'  Accepting  your  account  of  it,  I  want  to  put  this  to  you. 
J3  apposing  that  this  man  was  your  lover  " 

"  He  was  not  my  lover." 

"  Be  patient,  please.  I  am  merely  putting  a  supposition 
1'>  you.  If  you  and  he  had  been  carrying  on  a  guilty 
intrigue " 

"  I  have  sworn  that  we  were  not." 

*^  Gh,  please.  I  know  what  you  have  sworn.  I  quite 
understand  your  attitude.  I  think  everybody  in  court 
understands  it.  According  to  you,  there  is  nothing  in 
anything,  nothing  behind  anything.  But  accepting  all 
that  for  the  moment,  I  ask  you  to  follow  me  in  a  hypothesis. 
You  have  plenty  of  imagination.  You  can  have  no  dif- 
ficulty in  following  me.  I  will  put  it  this  way :  Suppose 
]t  was  another  woman  in  your  place,  a  faithless  wife 
awaiting  her  lover.  The  lover  arrives,  but  the  presence 
of  a  third  party  prevents  any  confidential  talk  between 
them,  prevents  their  making  arrangements.  Would  she 
not  probably  have  waited  upstairs  exactly  as  you  did,  then 
lurried  down  to  the  lover  at  the  first  opportunity,  made 
ill  arrangements  with  him  /for  the  gratification  of  their 
passion,  and  then,  and  not  till  then,  have  returned  and 
iisrobed  herself?  And  would  she  not  have  been  found 
absent  from  her  room  on  the  following  night  exactly  as 
you  were.?    Well?  " 

"  I  cannot  answer,"  said  Claire  proudly.  "  I  knoir 
aothing  of  how  such  a  person  would  act." 

"But  you  do  see  what  I  mean?  How  very  simple  it 
all  seems  if  for  a  moment  one  assumes  guilt.  Do  you  see 
that?" 

"  I  see  what  you  are  trying  to  insinuate." 


428  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  No,  no,  I  insinuate  nothing.  Come,  Mrs.  Vaughan, 
aren't  you  tired  of  fencing  with  me?  You  are  a  very 
clever  lady — you  cannot  really  fail  to  understand  that  I 
am  merely  putting  a  hypothetical  case.  Now,  don't  you 
see  that  under  this  assumption  the  facts  all  drop  into  their 
places  by  themselves,  there  is  no  difficulty  in  explaining 
them,  no  draft  on  one's  credulity  anywhere  required.^  " 

"  Yes,  I  understand  your  assumption." 

"  Then,  if  the  facts  are  so  susceptible  of  this  complexion, 
you  cannot  continue  to  treat  the  accusations  based  on 
them  as  wild  and  ridiculous  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  agree." 

"  Oh,  surely.?  You  cannot  any  longer  blame  people  for 
drawing  their  own  conclusions,  erroneous  though  they  may 
he?  Human  nature  being  what  it  is,  they  cannot  all  be 
blamed?  " 

"  I  have  not  blamed  all  of  them." 

"  There  can  be  no  necessity  to  find  ulterior  motives  for 
their  forming  their  opinion.?  " 

"  No." 

"  No  necessity  for  the  tissue  of  lies  theory,  conspiracy, 
attempt  to  wreck  you,  and  so  forth?" 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  Claire  wearily. 

"  Good.  Well,  I  am  glad  we  are  agreed  on  that  point," 
and  he  drew  a  long  breath.  "  We  have  cleared  the  air  in 
regard  to  that.  We  shall  get  on  together  much  better  for 
having  got  that  out  of  the  way." 

Then  he  resumed  an  easy  confidential  tone  as  he  started 
something  else. 

So  it  went  on  all  day.  Sometimes  Claire  felt  as  if  she 
had  been  stripped  naked  by  these  brutes  and  was  being 
publicly  flogged  to  death.  Sometimes  she  cast  despairing 
glances  at  Basil  Everett,  whose  yearning  eyes  never  failed 
to  meet  her  gaze.  Sometimes  she  looked  suddenly  towards 
Roddy,  as  if  even  he  must  feel  pity  and  be  willing  to  stop 
this  torturing.    But  it  still  went  on.    Once  she  looked  for 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  429 

a  d  from  Sir  James,  and  found  his  place  empty.    He  had 
g  )ne,  and  she  felt  that  even  her  paid  friends  had  deserted 

ll.T. 

While  he  was  there  he  protested  and  disputed.  There 
v^  ere  long  discussions  as  to  what  was  admissible ;  but  in 
t  le  end  everything  was  permitted. 

Mr.  Moberley  had  been  taking  her  backwards  and  for- 
Mards  through  the  Flat  episode;  saying  that  if  for  a 
ii.oment  he  accepted  the  amazing  explanation  of  her  issue 
f  'om  the  building  by  the  back  way,  past  all  those  domestic 
offices  without  being  seen,  and  her  return  to  Hans  Place 
sDon  after  eight  p.m.,  he  wished  to  know  how  she  filled  in 
all  the  time  between.  He  begged  her  not  to  reply  that  she 
had  sat  thinking;  and  there  was  more  laughter.  Now  he 
bad  taken  her  back  to  the  beginning  of  things — her  es- 
capade with  Roddy.  He  expressed  regret  at  raking  this 
up.  He  said  he  must  again  touch  on  this  painful  part 
of  the  story,  but  he  would  do  so  as  delicately  as  possible. 
His  client  had  chivalrously  wished  to  keep  it  out  altogether, 
but  it  was  impossible  to  keep  it  out.  The  questions  that 
he  was  about  to  put  arose  directly  out  of  some  of  her 
replies  to  his  learned  friend;  but  they  were  directed  to 
character,  and  in  that  sense  his  lordship  might  decide 
to  rule  them  out  as  irrelevant. 

But  he  himself  would  not  press  for  the  admission  of  the 
questions. 

And  again  there  was  that  movement  of  expectancy,  a 
tenser  emotion  in  the  audience. 

He  asked  her  about  her  love  for  Roddy. 

*'  You  were  passionately  in  love  with  him.''  " 

"  No,  not  passionately." 

"  Ardently,  shall  we  say  ?  " 

^'  I  loved  him,  in  the  beginning." 

"  In  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word.  You  greatly  admired 
him?" 

"  Yes,  I  admired  him." 


430  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

"  And  for  this  love  you  threw  over  everything.  You 
lived  with  him  before  marriage?  " 

In  the  absence  of  Sir  James  her  junior  counsel  rose  and 
fought  for  her  gamely.  But  Mr.  Moberley  was  able  to  go 
on. 

"  Believe  me,  Mrs.  Vaughan,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  allude 
to  this  first  fault  of  yours " 

Mr.  Eaton  sprang  to  his  feet  again  and  again  protested. 
He  made  the  big  man  very  angry.  Mr.  Moberley  said  he 
would  not  be  bullied — "  not  by  you  or  anybody  else.  I 
will  not  submit  to  bullying.  I  demand  fair  play."  He  wa» 
very  indignant  about  it. 

Then  he  put  his  question  in  a  different  form. 

"  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  doing,"  said  Claire. 

"  Just  so.  You  were  simply  carried  away  by  your 
love?  " 

"No.    I "" 

''  Well?  " 

"  I  went  to  him  to  get  married.  He  respected  me.  And 
I  never  realized  till  afterwards  that  I  had  put  myself  in  a 
false  position." 

Then  soon  he  was  asking  her  about  her  love,  or  her 
regard,  for  Basil  Everett,  and  she  admitted  that  she  ad- 
mired him. 

*^Oh,  you  admired  him!  That  was  the  start.  Well, 
you  have  told  us  what  admiration  led  to  in  the  case  of 
your  husband;  but  on  this  second  occasion  you  endeav- 
oured to  curb  it  and  keep  it  within  bounds?     Is  that  so?  " 

"  It  was  totally  different." 

So  it  went  on — backwards  and  forwards. 

"  Now  you  have  sworn  that  throughout  your  married 
life  there  was  not  any  time  at  which  your  husband  had 
occasion  to  impugn  your  conduct — I  mean,  of  course,  in 
regard  to  other  men.  I  will  read  you  my  learned  friend's 
question  and  your  reply.  .  .  .  Now,  do  you  stick  to 
this?  ...  I  will  give  you  another  chance.     Search  your 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  431 

I:  emorj.  Does  nothing  occur  to  you  that  makes  it  de- 
s  rable  to  withdraw  or  modify  that  statement  of  yours  ?  '* 

«  No." 

"All  right;"  and  he  turned  and  stared  at  the  jury. 
'  Now  answer  me,  please,  with  a  yes  or  no ; "  and  he 
t  irned  to  her.    "  Have  you  forgotten  Evan  Giles?  '* 

Claire  started  in  wonder. 

"Ah!  So  you  do  remember.^  You  know  who  I  mean? 
']'he  novelist?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  He  is  dead  now,  but  during  his  lifetime  you  knew  him 
'^ery  well?  " 

"  Yes,  he  was  a  great  friend." 

As  she  said  it,  the  picture  of  Evan  Giles  rose  before 
her :  so  tragically  sad,  the  grey-haired  man  weeping  in  the 
dusty,  littered  room. 

"  Now,  yes  or  no,  please.  No  embroidery.  Did  your 
husband  on  a  certain  occasion  forbid  you  to  receive  that 
man  at  the  house  again  ?  " 

"  Well,  Mr.  Giles  had  dined  with  us,  and " 

"  No,  no,"  he  roared.  "  I  will  not  have  it.  Yes  or  no, 
madam." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  promised  to  obey  his  wish?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  later  on  make  a  confession  to  him  that  m 
spite  of  this  prohibition  you  had  had  Giles  to  the  house?  '* 

"  Yes." 

"  And  did  his  visits  in  fact  continue  until  they  were  cut 
short  by  something  in  no  way  connected  with  your 
husband?" 

"  He  came  to  see  me  several  times." 

"  And  then  did  not  somebody  else  object — not  your 
husband  at  all?     Yes  or  no." 

"  Yes." 

"  Who  was  it?  " 


432  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

''  Mrs.  Giles." 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Giles,  the  man's  own  wife.  Why  did  she 
object?" 

"  I  believe  they  were  not  on  the  best  of  terms  together." 

"Well?     Goon." 

"  I  think  she  was  of  a  jealous  disposition." 

"  Didn't  you  know  that  she  was  jealous?  " 

"  Mr.  Giles  had  said  so." 

"  Then  soon  afterwards  he  died.  Are  you  aware  of  the 
prevaiUng  suspicion  that  he  committed  suicide?  " 

"  No." 

"  Oh,  surely?    Don't  you  know  there  was  an  inquest?  '* 

"  Yes,  I  know  there  was  an  inquest." 

"  And  doubt  expressed  about  his  having  thrown  him- 
self on  to  the  rocks  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  If  so,  have  you  any  idea  why  he  committed  suicide?  " 

Claire  remained  silent.  The  thing  was  too  monstrous. 
Again  that  presentment  of  the  heart-broken  man  rose  be- 
fore her.  She  remembered  his  words  about  going  quietly 
and  no  one  ever  knowing. 

"  Do  you  refuse  to  answer?  " 

She  rallied  her  strength,  looked  at  her  tormentor,  and 
spoke  proudly  and  firmly. 

"  Yes,  I  refuse  to  answer.  It  is  nothing  to  do  with 
me." 

"  And  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  her,"  said  Sir  James 
cheerfully — *^  or  with  this  case  either."  Sir  James  had 
come  back,  and  Claire  felt  a  flicker  of  comfort. 

But  Mr.  Moberley  was  more  indignant  than  ever.  He 
said  Sir  James's  treatment  of  him  amounted  to  persecu- 
tion. It  was  impossible  to  collect  the  threads  of  one's  ideas 
while  being  dealt  with  in  such  a  pitiless  fashion.  In  all 
his  long  experience  he  had  never  met  the  like  of  it.  He 
puffed  and  blew ;  and  it  was  a  little  while  before  he  could 
compose  himself  sufficiently  to  go  on  agani. 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  433 

The  hands  of  the  big  clock,  as  Claire  looked  at  it, 
t'  emed  to  have  stopped.     The  afternoon  would  never  be 

0  /er. 

He  had  taken  her  back  to  the  doctor's  misconception  as 
t )  Basil's  being  her  husband ;  and  all  at  once  he  spoke  of 
t  le  child.    "  This  was  the  night  the  child  died." 

Claire  was  trembling,  trying  to  speak. 

"  My  learned  friend  is  wrong,"  said  Sir  James.  "  It 
V  as  three  days  before  she  died." 

Mr.  Moberley  turned  on  him  violently;  shouted,  splut- 
tered, nearly  suffocated.     Then,  with  papers  pushed  into 

1  is  hand  by  his  junior,  he  admitted  that  he  was  wrong. 

"  I  beg  pardon — I  beg  pardon — I  beg  pardon,"  he 
said  volubly.  "  Just  so.  My  lord,  I  admit  I  was  astray. 
Ivlomentarily  I  had  lapsed.  In  fact  I  was  wrong.  Three 
clays !  It  is  not  often  that  I  miss  a  date.  I  have  a  fairly 
established  reputation  for  accuracy  in  these  cases.  But, 
well,  the  mind  works  less  surely  when  fatigued.  I  am  not 
in  my  first  youth,"  and  he  had  the  same  engaging  smile, 
as  if  certain  of  the  sympathy  and  affection  of  all  present. 
"  I  have  been  at  it  since  the  first  thing  this  morning  and 
the  strain  tells,"  and  he  turned  round  to  his  clerk.  "  Get 
me  my  lozenges." 

Then  he  turned  to  Claire. 

"  I  will  not  press  you  as  to  that  episode.  Really  you 
have  given  me  all  I  wanted.  I  will  only  ask  you  this.  The 
child  Maudie " 

''  Gladys,"  said  Claire,  in  a  whisper. 

"What's  that.?^  Oh!  Gladys!  Just  so.  The  name  is 
of  no  consequence.  Only  the  facts  matter.  The  child 
Gladys,  or  Maudie,  or  whatever  you  call  her,  was  ill  and 
in  danger  of  death.    ..." 

Claire  had  broken  down  in  tears.  She  sat,  with  her 
arms  stretched  forward  across  the  ledge  of  the  box  and 
her  head  upon  her  arms,  weeping.  All  eyes  were  on  her. 
People  all  along  the  benches  leaned  forward  fascinated  by 


434  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

the  picture;  they  closely  watched  the  black  hat  bowed 
down  and  the  heaving  of  the  frail  shoulders.  For  a  little 
while  one  heard  nothing  but  her  convulsive  sobbing. 

"  Take  your  time,"  said  Mr.  Moberley,  with  good 
humour;  and  he  sat  down  and  began  to  suck  his  lozenges. 

As  soon  as  she  was  ready  he  went  on  again.  But  Claire 
was  without  the  least  force  of  resistance  now;  she  had 
been  broken  by  that  last  brutal  allusion  to  the  dying 
child — "  Gladys  or  Maudie  or  whatever  you  call  her."  It 
was  the  last  screw  of  the  rack.  She  looked  half  crazed 
and  answered  distractedly. 

Soon  he  was  making  her  say  whatever  he  pleased.  She 
confessed  that  words  of  love  had  once  passed  between 
Basil  and  herself;  she  said  she  had  told  Basil  that  she 
loved  him;  she  said  that  if  this  was  wrong  she  could  not 
help  it.  She  said  whatever  the  inquisitor  wanted  her  to 
say.    She  was  at  his  mercy.    And  he  had  none. 

Next  morning  they  brought  her  there  again  for  re- 
examination by  Sir  James ;  and  she  stood  with  white  cheeks 
and  red  rims  about  her  eyes,  making  all  the  ladies  whisper. 
Sir  James  did  what  he  could  for  her.  But  she  was  like 
the  shattered  subject  fetched  out  of  the  dungeon  and 
brought  before  the  inquisitors  once  more;  not  knowing 
friends  from  foes  now,  not  knowing  whether  she  recants  or 
confirms  a  vow. 

"  I  should  take  her  out  of  court,"  said  Sir  James,  lean- 
ing over  and  touching  Leonard's  shoulder.  "  Take  her 
home.  She  won't  be  wanted  again.  Not  to-day,  at  any 
rate." 

That  evening  and  the  evening  of  the  following  day 
the  newspaper  reports  were  full  of  "  sensations "  and 
**  laughter."  Some  of  Claire's  witness  caused  great  merri- 
ment; more  especially  her  mother,  who  wandered  round 
and  round  the  witness  box,  would  speak  to  the  juHge  as 
*^  Sir  Henry ;  "  and  when  asked  to  consider  him  merely  in 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  435 

s  official  capacity,  gave  him  a  dignified  stare  as  if  men- 
t  illy  removing  him  for  ever  from  her  visiting-list.  Uncle 
1  >erek  provoked  mirth,  but  in  a  lesser  degree,  telling  how 
i .  was  only  the  merest  accident  that  prevented  him  from 
ccompanying  Claire  all  through  "  the  Flat  episode."  The 
[  ite  Miss  Graham's  private  maid  amused  only  because  she 
ras  such  a  character.  The  "  sensational  scenes  "  were 
(hiefly  due  to  the  co-respondent,  who  stopped  his  counsel 
^"^hen  explaining  to  the  jury  that,  difficult  as  it  might  ap- 
()ear  to  the  lay  mind,  they  could  find  that  Claire  had  been 
/,fuilty  of  misconduct  with  Basil,  but  that  Basil  was  in- 
nocent of  misconduct  with  Claire.  He  stopped  him  again 
when  inviting  the  jury  to  give  the  co-respondent  the  benefit 
of  any  doubt.  He  was  violent  under  cross-examination, 
and  had  to  be  twice  cautioned  by  the  judge  because  of 
;hings  he  said  to  Mr.  Moberley. 

Then,  after  an  adjournment  of  two  days,  it  was  the 
last  day  of  all.  Claire  sat  in  her  accustomed  place  and 
listened  to  the  judge's  summing  up.  He  had  started  long 
before  luncheon;  and  he  was  going  on  now  in  exactly  the 
same  chatty  emotionless  style,  as  if  he  would  never  cease. 

.  .  .  "  I  am  not  going  into  any  further  detail  on  this 
point,  because  you  have  paid  such  patient  attention  to 
the  evidence.  ...  I  am  not  laying  down  the  law.  I  am 
merely  putting  it  all  before  you.  .  .  .  It  is  for  you  to 
say  if  you  believe  the  evidence  on  this  point.  ...  I  must 
say  that  in  my  opinion  the  evidence  of  the  lady  on  this 
point  was  not  very  candid.  ..." 

The  merciless  deadly  chat  went  on ;  and  Claire  felt  more 
than  despair,  a  bitterness  worse  than  death.  The  truth 
was  nothing  in  this  cursed  place.  No  one  could  see  it; 
no  one  could  understand  it. 

..."  To  my  mind  the  key  to  almost  everything  is  the 
credibility  or  not  of  the  nurse.  Which  are  you  to  be- 
lieve? One  of  these  two  people  has  to  be  disbelieved.  ... 
If  you  are  to  believe  Mrs.  Vaughan's  account  of  the  affair 


436  FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

it  seems  to  me  that  the  larger  part  of  the  case  against 
her  falls  to  the  ground,  because  everything  else  must  be 
read  in  the  light  that  is  thrown  upon  it  by  this  Brighton 
incident.  That's  how  it  seems  to  me.  But  it  is  how  it 
strikes  you,  not  how  it  strikes  me.  ..." 

The  quiet  flood  of  words  poured  over  her  head,  drowning 
her.  It  had  been  raining  and  the  streets  were  full  of  mud ; 
now  a  fog  had  gathered,  swallowing  the  daylight,  creeping 
chilly  into  all  the  corridors  and  halls  of  the  vast  building. 
She  had  a  sensation  of  the  cold,  the  filth,  and  the  darkness 
outside  these  high  walls. 

.  .  .  "  It  is  a  serious  allegation  to  say  that  a  nurse  is 
asleep  while  on  duty.  It  is  like  accusing  a  sentry  at  his 
post.  .  .  .  The  lady  says  she  refrained  from  waking  her. 
She  let  her  sleep  in  pity.  It  is  quite  conceivable.  .  .  . 
If  the  nurse,  jealous  of  her  professional  repute,  has  lied  to 
cover  her  fault.  .  .  .  It  is  for  you  to  decide.  ...  It  would 
be  a  cruel,  a  wicked  thing  for  her  to  do,  because  of  the 
damaging  effect  on  this  lady.  .  .  .  Gentlemen,  it  may  be 
extremely  difiicult  for  you." 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  fog  came  through  the  high 
windows  in  long  dark  swathes;  the  lamps  were  burning 
palely;  she  was  going  down  in  darkness. 

..."  And  again,  gentlemen,  you  must  apply  your 
own  common  sense.  ..." 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  that  is  the  whole  case.  You  can 
take  all  these  maps  and  tracings  with  you." 

The  jury  had  gone,  and  immediately  a  new  case  started. 
It  was  an  undefended  case  of  no  consequence,  to  be  heard 
without  a  jury,  and  it  rattled  along  at  a  tremendous 
pace. 

This  was  a  love  match,  counsel  told  the  judge.  The 
petitioner,  a  temporary  officer  in  the  Army,  while  on  leave 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  respondent  outside  the 
Piccadilly  Circus  station;  they  went  away  together,  and 
were  married  two  days   afterwards.     On  his   return   to 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  437 

F  ance  a  communication  was  made  to  the  petitioner  by  a 
t:  other  officer.   .    .    . 

Nobody  listened,  nobody  cared.  The  court  was  as  full 
a  ever;  but  all  these  people  were  waiting  to  hear  the 
v<  rdict  of  the  Vaughan  case.  This  common  stuff  was  quite 
b  neath  their  notice.  They  had  to  wait  a  long  time.  Then 
ir  a  moment  the  new  case  was  shuffled  aside.  The  door 
li  id  opened  and  the  jury  were  filing  back  into  their  box. 

Someone  reading  out  aloud,  as  if  from  the  book  of  doom, 
asked  them  if  they  found  that  Roddy  was  guilty  of 
desertion;  and  they  said  Yes. 

Did  they  find  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  adultery? 

Yes. 

Did  they  find  that  Claire  had  been  guilty  of  adultery.'* 

Yes. 

There  was  a  sound  of  many  footsteps.  The  crowd  was 
surging  out  of  the  court  and  along  the  corridor.  It  was 
all  over.  Both  petitions  had  been  dismissed.  Roddy  and 
Claire  remained  man  and  wife. 

Leonard  hurried  her  fast  through  the  moving  throng 
and  took  her  out  by  the  Carey  Street  entrance,  where  his 
car  was  waiting  for  them.  All  the  way  people  were  recog- 
nizing her,  pointing  at  her.  Three  common  women  just 
ahead  of  them  were  talking  loudly  about  her;  at  the  en- 
trance they  turned,  saw  her,  and  as  she  passed  out  one  of 
them  spoke  with  noisy  scorn. 

"  There  she  goes,  the ! '' 

The  obscene  word,  hurled  after  her  into  the  fog  and 
mud,  made  her  shrink  a  little  closer  to  Leonard's  arm. 

It  was  the  verdict  of  the  gutter,  it  was  the  verdict  of 
the  world,  on  a  perfectly  pure  and  good  woman  immolated 
by  our  cruel  and  stupid  law. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

IT  was  the  evening  now.  She  was  alone,  crouching 
down  near  the  fire,  in  that  room  beside  the  hall  where 
as  a  child  she  used  to  look  with  admiring  wonder  at 
her  aunt's  pretty  things. 

The  room  was  quite  unchanged,  just  as  she  remembered 
it  then.  The  light  flickered  warmly  on  all  the  familiar 
objects — the  miniatures  of  gallant  old  gentlemen  in  red 
tunics  and  delicately  tinted  ladies  in  powdered  wigs ;  the 
blue  and  white  china ;  the  soft  coloured  bindings  of  books 
behind  the  latticed  panes.     Only  Claire  had  changed. 

She  had  given  agitated  orders  to  the  servants  that  no 
one  was  to  be  admitted  to  the  house,  but  every  now  and 
then  she  turned  her  eyes  towards  the  door  and  listened; 
for  the  fear  of  Roddy  was  upon  her.  He  would  certainly 
come  to  her.  Perhaps  even  now  he  was  already  coming — 
somewhere  out  there  in  the  fog,  drawing  closer  and  closer. 
How  could  these  women-servants  keep  him  out?  She 
crouched  lower  in  the  chair,  and  trembled. 

He  was  still  her  husband — her  master.  He  could  claim 
her  when  he  pleased.  He  could  do  what  he  liked  with  her, 
and  no  one  would  save  her.  That  protection  of  the  court, 
spoken  of  by  Leonard,  was  gone  from  her  now.  It  ended 
with  the  end  of  the  case. 

Presently  she  heard  the  electric  bell  ring,  the  maid's 
footstep  in  the  hall,  and  the  sound  of  a  man's  voice.  She 
sprang  to  her  feet  half  mad  with  fear,  drew  back  to  the 
wall,  and  stood  staring  at  the  door  with  hands  outstretched 
and  shaking.  Then  her  arms  dropped  to  her  sides.  She 
had  recognized  the  voice,  and  it  was  not  Roddy's. 

"  Say  it's  all  right.  Tell  her  that  you  don't  mind  seeing 
me." 

Basil  had  opened  the  door  of  the  room,  and  the  maid 

438 


FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE  439 

w  i  3  stanchly  contesting  his  entrance.  Claire  spoke  to  her, 
ai  i  she  left  them  alone. 

^*  Claire!'' 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other.  Indeed,  they  had 
be  th  of  them  changed.  He  was  haggard,  untidy,  throbbing 
wi:h  hot  anger — ^like  a  soldier  on  the  line  of  retreat  after 
a  reverse  to  his  army,  with  courage  unbroken  but  hope 
destroyed.  She,  wild-eyed,  white,  limp,  shaking,  was  like 
a  woman  just  escaped  from  the  enemy  after  being  out- 
raged. 

"Why  have  you  come?"  And  she  clung  to  him, 
t  -embling.     "  You  ought  not  to  have  come  to  me." 

"  Yes,  I  ought." 

"  What  do  you  bring?  Poison,  to  put  me  out  of  my 
misery?" 

And  for  a  little  while  they  scarcely  knew  what  they  were 
saying. 

*'  Basil,  if  he  comes — if  he  tries  to  get  me  back — if  he 
forces  me  again,  I'll  kill  myself.  I'll  throw  myself  from  the 
top  of  the  house — as  Evan  threw  himself  upon  the  rocks. 
Gladys  will  know.     Gladys  will  forgive  me." 

^'  Hush.  He  won't  come.  If  he  comes  now  while  I  am 
here,  I  shall  kill  him.  That's  why  we  must  get  away  at 
once.  I  shall  stop  with  you  till  we  go.  Yes,  I  shall  stop 
here." 

They  clung  to  each  other,  and  grew  calmer.  Her  face 
nil  wet  with  tears  was  against  his  face  and  then  sank  to 
Ills  breast;  and  he  held  her  more  tightly,  so  that  she  should 
not  slide  down  to  the  ground. 

**  A  woman  called  me  a  foul  name.  That's  what  people 
hiftk  of  me.  Wherever  I  go,  they  will  look  at  me — point 
at  me." 

"  Nonsense.     To-morrow  it  will  be  all  forgotten." 

**  And  next  day  it  will  be  somebody  else .     That's 

vhat  you'll  say  to  make  me  believe.  Basil — I — I'm  so 
;orry  to  have  brought  this  trouble  on  you." 

"  Claire,  don't — please  don't.    Come.    We'd  better  go." 


440      FOR  BETTER,  FOR  WORSE 

Then  she  released  herself  from  his  embrace. 

"  It's  no  good.  We  must  say  Good-bye.  You — you're 
very  kind  to  me.  But,  Basil,  I  won't  drag  you  down  to 
my  level.    You — you  must  go  on  with  your  career." 

"  My  career  is  finished." 

"  No,  no.  You  mustn't  say  that.  You  said  people  will 
forget.  They  will,  about  you.  If  one  drop  of  bitterness 
could  be  added  to  my  cup,  it  would  be  to  know  that  I 
had  ruined  you." 

"  Claire ! " 

"  You  mustn't  throw  things  over." 

"  I  have  done  it." 

"  No.'' 

"  It's  irrevocable.  I  am  going  to  Australia.  I  have 
taken  that  man's  offer.    And  you  are  going  with  me." 

"  No.     Never." 

But  he  seized  her  in  his  arms  and  spoke  with  passionate 
strength.  "  Claire.  Put  your  arms  round  my  neck.  Hold 
your  dear  face  to  mine.  Now,  who  cares?  What  does 
anything  matter?     We  have  got  each  other  at  last." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said  finally.  "  Yes,  I  can't  help  it. 
I  give  up.  I  can't,  I  can't  go  on.  Yes,  take  me  away — 
hide  me  from  people — save  me  from  other  women's  eyes. 
Oh,  Basil,  why  has  God  been  so  cruel?  " 

"  Hush." 

"  Take  me  with  you — take  a  mistress.  Use  me — throw 
me  away " 

"  Claire — you  are  breaking  my  heart." 

"  I — I'll  try  to  mend  it.     I'll  do  anything  you  say." 

"  Now  shall  I  stay  with  you  here  or  take  you  to  my 
rooms  ?  " 

"  Take  me  to  your  rooms.  Take  me  now.  I'm  afraid 
of  this  house." 

Her  cloak  and  hat  were  on  the  chair  where  she  had  laid 
them  down  hours  ago.  He  helped  her  to  put  them  on,  and 
they  went  out  into  the  darkness  hand  in  hand. 

ExTTvouth,  May,  1919 — Richmond,  January,  1920. 


rem  t 

?venthtC  r 


Tb    bOU70 


